Girl with a Red Umbrella
by justaskalice
Summary: Co-Written w/ spanglemaker9. Paris, 1950. Rosalie Hale went to Paris to study, then vanished without a trace. Her friend Bella has come to find her. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose’s letters, Bella searches for Rose and might find herself.
1. A Stranger in Town

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

* * *

_I was meant to live in Paris, Bella. From the second I stepped onto its busy streets, I felt as if the part of me that has always been missing was found. I can't even explain it, except to say that everything is so colorful here, so loud, so vibrant. Even after the horrors of occupation, the Parisians go about their business, breathing new life into crumbling buildings and picking up where they left off years ago. They call it joie de vivre. I feel truly alive here, for the first time since Aunt Helen died. I'm home._

*****

The train let out a bellowing shriek as I jumped to the platform, clutching my small case to my chest. Smoke filled the station and cast my surroundings in a ghostly light. People budged around me, jostling me this way and that as I struggled to keep on my feet. After just over a month of solid travel, I was exhausted and disoriented, not to mention completely alone. I had never even traveled as far as Seattle by myself before, let alone across the globe. It was an experience I was not in a hurry to relive.

Standing in the middle of the train station wouldn't make me less alone, though, so I summoned my last ounce of courage and set out for the street, using my elbows to maneuver when necessary. I found a clear piece of pavement and set my suitcase down, using it as a seat as I dug through my pockets for the letter I had been re-reading compulsively since New Year's Day.

The sender, a young woman by the name of Alice Brandon, had written to me urgently. Her roommate and my best friend, Rosalie Hale, had gone missing. Alice had searched for Rose's family, but of course she had none, only me. My address was among the things Rose left behind, and with no other leads, Alice had contacted me.

It was the first news I'd heard from Paris since October.

Rose's sudden drop in correspondence had worried me, of course, but we were half a world apart, and my mother assured me that such things sometimes happen. She was living the life she was always meant to live, one that a small town girl like me would never understand. Rose had always been bigger than me, bigger than Forks. The easy way she had settled into her new French life was proof of that. Despite it all, I had been hurt at the thought of Rose outgrowing our friendship and leaving me behind.

When I received Alice's letter, my fears came rushing back. The thought of Rose alone and frightened somewhere in Paris was too much to bear, so I had quietly made travel arrangements. I withdrew all my savings and obtained a passport, and one cold night in early February I set off, leaving a letter for my parents explaining where I had gone and promising to write when I arrived in Paris. Asking permission was out of the question, so I would simply beg forgiveness.

I scanned the familiar words again, seeking out the address Alice had given me. I would have to ask directions and pray that Alice was home when I got there. Steeling myself once again, I looked around for a friendly face. A middle-aged woman with ash blonde hair stood near me, and I approached her timidly.

"Please, ma'am, could you tell me how to get to the sixth arr-arron-disse-ment?" The French fell awkwardly from my lips, and the woman merely stared blankly at me.

"Je ne comprends pas. Parlez-vous français?" she fired back rapidly.

"I don't… English?" I stuttered. She shook her head and strode away. I felt tears pricking my eyes and my shoulders started to shake.

"Hey there, kid, what are you crying about?"

I turned toward the voice and saw a tall man with an open, friendly face smiling down on me. His accent was American, and there was something about his honest brown eyes that made me trust him.

"I need directions to my friend's apartment, but I don't speak French," I explained, trying to keep the quaver out of my voice.

"Well, now, that's not so hard," he said, deep dimples appearing on either side of his wide smile. "I think we can handle that. There's a stand nearby that sells maps, why don't we head down there and you can get your bearings."

I nodded gratefully, wiping the tears from my eyes and following him across the street. A small part of me screamed that to follow a total stranger into an equally strange city was foolhardy in the extreme, but mostly I just felt relieved that someone else was making a decision.

We got to a small newsstand, and the man pulled out a few coins and traded them for a map.

"Oh, I can pay for—"

"Nonsense," he said, waving me off with a large paw. He was an imposing man, built like a quarterback. "Where did you say your friend lives?"

"Sixth arrondisement."

Snapping the map open wide, he pointed. "We're here, you see?" I nodded. "And this right here, that's where you're headed. Do you have an address?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you think you can find the place? I'd be happy to walk you there."

"No, thank you," I said quickly. I was willing to accept a map from him, but allowing him to lead me to Alice's apartment when the only thing I knew about him was his nationality was going too far. I could hear my father now.

"_You're too trusting, Isabella._" He'd shake his head and twitch his mustache angrily._ "Men are only after one thing." _

With a wave to my new friend, I walked away, map in hand. I was conscious that every moment I stared at the map I looked more and more out of place, but I wasn't so concerned about looking like a tourist that I wanted to get lost before I ever found my way to Alice's.

I found the nearest subway station and descended into the dark, holding my breath as I went. I'd never ridden the metro before. When I stopped in New York City to board my ship for France, I had stayed firmly above ground. Now that I had finally reached my destination, I was anxious to get some stability, and if the subway could get me there faster, so be it. I had never thought longingly of the uncomfortable camp bed in my dorm room before, but a month spent on trains and ships will make you appreciate even the most minimal of comforts.

Alice's apartment was in Saint-Germain, on the Rue de Seine. I had a vague idea that it must be near the river, but I was completely ignorant of the geography of the city. Luckily, there was a metro map on the flip side of the map I now held. Unluckily, the map made no sense to me. It looked like a jumble of colored yarn, the separate lines tangled in an incomprehensible snare.

I stood near the tracks as trains came and went, trying to find a path from where I was to Alice's neighborhood. Every time I thought I had it figured out, I would flip back to the city map and become hopelessly confused again.

"Mademoiselle?" A police officer approached me after about ten minutes, and his moustache and stern stare reminded me so much of my father that I almost broke down again. It was a feeling I was beginning to associate with trains. "Peux-je vous aider avec quelque chose?"

"I don't speak French," I sighed, biting my lower lip. Again, the gesture reminded me of my father. He hated when I chewed on my lip. Were my parents worried about me? Had they received my letter? It would have to wait until I could find Alice. I cleared my throat and said, very slowly and loudly, as if speaking louder would make him understand, "I need to get to Saint-Germain. Can you help me?"

"Ah, Saint-Germain!" He broke into a wide smile, and gestured to my map. "Saint-Germain-des-pres. Comprenez-vous?" He traced his finger from where we were down a red line to several stops away.

"Oui," I said, smiling for the first time in days. "Oui, merci."

"Au revoir, jolie."

I bought a second class ticket and found a seat on the next train, keeping my suitcase in my arms and my map safely tucked in my pocket with Alice's letter. The other passengers in my car gave me odd looks. One woman, her hair tucked up in an elegant knot that I could never in a million years reproduce, eyed the empty seat next to me with disgust before lowering herself into it.

"Bonjour," I murmured, glancing up at her. Her perfectly painted lips lifted in a sneer, and she turned, very deliberately, to face the other way. I hugged my suitcase tighter.

"Saint-Germain-des-pres! Saint-Germain-des-pres!" A loud, deep voice announced my stop and I stumbled out of my seat, barely avoiding stepping on my seatmate's costly looking shoes on my way to the door. I heard her snort and mutter _Americans_ under her breath.

"Not far now," I said aloud, dropping my arm and straightening my skirt as I climbed back up to street level. "You can do this, Bella Swan."

The wide boulevard was almost more terrifying than the crowded train station had been, but this time I was prepared. I didn't let myself compare my surroundings with the quiet streets of my campus in Seattle, and I refused to be distracted by the way the women all seemed infinitely more sophisticated than me. I was holding myself together fairly well until I turned up the Rue de Seine and passed a leggy blonde wearing a steeply angled hat, half her face shadowed by the brim, her dress wrapped tightly around her curves.

I glanced down at my plain brown skirt and cotton blouse. No wonder the woman on the train had sneered. I looked plain and dowdy and out of place. I reached up to touch my hair. It was tied back in a neat pony tail, but it felt inadequate somehow. Maybe a braid would have been better.

For the first time, Alice seemed intimidating. She had lived in Paris for longer than Rose, and from what little Rose had told me about her roommate, she had enough personality to fill Forks and Seattle together. Her letter had seemed friendly enough, but she was a fashion reporter for French Vogue. She'd probably take one look at me and turn up her nose, just like the woman on the train.

My breaths started coming in short gasps, and I felt the telltale burning in my eyes. I stopped in front of a set of double glass doors marked with the address Alice had given me. I pulled on one handle. Locked. I tried the other, pulling with all my strength, even though I knew it wasn't going to budge.

"Gosh DARN it!" I shrieked, kicking the door. Weeks and weeks of travel, sleeping curled around my suitcase and washing my blouses in the sink of my tiny cabin at sea, warding off the advances of over-solicitous sailors, only to be stopped, practically inches from my destination, by something as insignificant as a lock? "Why won't you open?" I yelled, kicking the door again and pulling with all my might.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle." I whipped around, face burning. Behind me was a petite older woman. Her hair was a delicate shade of… could it be? Pink? I squinted, taking in the rest of her. She wore a full black skirt and a tailored ivory jacket that hugged her body in a way that was scandalous considering her age.

"Do you need to get in? Are you visiting a friend?" Her voice was lightly accented, but she was easy to understand.

"I…I… Alice Brandon?"

"Charmant! You are young Alice's friend?" She extended a black gloved hand daintily. "I am Madame Beauvais. But you can call me Estelle, eh?" She threw back her head with a throaty laugh and pulled out a key from the bulging bag that was slung over her shoulder.

"Follow me, follow me," she called over her shoulder, bumping the door open with her hip and hurrying through the lobby to the lift. "I live next door to Alice. You American girls, you know how to live, no? I am always asking Alice about her conquests and adventures."

I nodded dumbly and tried to contain my panic. What kind of girl _was _Alice? I barely had a moment to contemplate it, as Madame Beauvais was soon pushing me out onto whatever level the elevator had stopped at and tugging me down the hall.

"This way, ma chérie!" We had almost reached the end of the hall when a door to my left swung open, and a tiny girl came barreling out.

"Excuse me, Estelle, no time to talk," she called over her shoulder. "I'm late, late, late! Gotta make like the white rabbit and jump on down the rabbit hole, or my editor will have my head!"

"Alice, wait!"

The girl pulled up short and whipped around, a look of impatience clearly painted across her face. I tasted bile as I took in her appearance. Her black dress with its tiny nipped-in waist and full skirt was unquestionably real silk, and her white gloves and flyaway hat gave her the look of a Hollywood starlet. She had big grey eyes fringed with thick black lashes and cropped black hair, a soft curl worked into her short bangs. She raised one manicured and penciled eyebrow at me and then looked back at Estelle.

"Honey, I don't have time for charity cases. I'm sorry, I really am, but I just can't—"

"I'm Isabella Swan," I blurted, feeling more and more like I was going to burst into tears and desperately wanting it to be in private. Alice's eyes widened before she broke into a dazzling smile.

"Well if that isn't the best news I've heard all day! Why didn't you say so?" She opened her arms and took two quick steps toward me, enveloping me in a tight hug.

She unlocked her door and looked back into the hall. "Ta, Estelle. We'll chat later." With a wink and a wave, she pulled me into her apartment and closed the door behind her.

"Work can wait," she shrugged, unpinning her hat and setting it carefully on a table near the door. "Now, can I get you a cup of tea?"

I stared at her for about five seconds and then promptly started to sob.

* * *

**A/N: Welcome to Girl with a Red Umbrella, co-written by justaskalice and spanglemaker. For the most part, justaskalice is writing Bella's POV and spanglemaker is writing Edward's POV, although we may switch over a little to help out on later chapters.**

**The story takes place in France and as such, there is some French in the dialogue. For the most part, it's just there for atmosphere, you can skip it entirely and you won't miss any plot points. If we feel that what's said in French impacts your understanding of the scene, we'll include a translation at the end of the chapter. Neither of us is fluent, however, so please be kind if you spot our errors!**

**We've done quite a bit of research for this story and we'd love to share it with the readers. We're working on setting up a livejournal page for the story with photographs, artwork and music that are inspiring and informing us along the way. We'll let you know when it's up and running.**

**Thanks for reading! Leave a review and let us know what you think!  
**


	2. Musician in the Rain

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

* * *

I love Paris. I love every inch of this city, in every season, at every time of day, no matter what the weather. I love Paris.

But bloody hell, it was cold tonight. The Square du Vert-Galant was right in the middle of the Seine and the breeze was stiff, blowing the fine, misting rain into my face no matter which way I angled myself. I'd been working on the painting for weeks, though, and I started it in the rain. The rain seemed…I don't know…important to it. It evoked the mood, it defined the atmosphere. So as soon as the sun went down and the drizzle began, I packed up my paints and my easel and the canvas and headed to the Île de la Cité.

I wasn't even sure why I did this to myself. After I spent all day parked on the Seine, turning out scenes of the Notre Dame and the odd portrait for tourists just to make a few francs, and most nights at the club playing piano, I still dragged myself out here in the cold and the rain to paint. And for what? To find something genuine in myself, I suppose. To find a purpose that wasn't selfish, or spoiled by greed or fear or anger. I came out here to paint in the hopes of finding something in myself that was good. So what if I never seemed to find it? Maybe the looking was enough.

I had a decent spot staked out, all things considered. I'd made friends with Jules, who ran the used book stall, and he let me set up just under the overhang of the roof of his stall. When I got bored or my hands got too numb, Jules and I shared a smoke and we talked about books while I flipped through his offerings. Tonight though, the rain had chased off his customers and he'd closed up early. The drizzle got rid of the lingering lovers. Even the beggars had abandoned the benches in search of someplace drier.

It was March, but instead of getting milder, the weather had gotten steadily sharper all week. Tonight there was a damp, bitter bite to the air. My knuckles were aching in spite of the fingerless knit gloves I'd pulled on. Part of me wanted to just pack it in and go home too, get warm and dry and maybe drunk. But I had finally slipped into a groove painting the reflections of the gas streetlights on the rain-slicked pavement and the glints on the wet wrought iron railing, so I was reluctant to quit now. Maybe if I could just get this bit figured out, then I could call it a night.

I glanced up from my canvas to look again at the iridescent shimmer of light on the sidewalk and was irritated to find someone standing in it. She hadn't been there a minute ago, no one had been there. That's one of the reasons I chose to set up here, people didn't just wander through this end of the park on their way to someplace else. Since it was at the very point of the Île de la Cité you had to come here on purpose. At night, in the rain, very few people did that.

Except, apparently, for this girl, who had taken up residence leaning on the railing smack in the middle of my composition, her feet marring the reflections of my puddles, her umbrella right in the middle of my view of the river. I huffed in frustration and crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for her to move on. She didn't. I lit a cigarette and leaned back against the corner of Jules' stall and stared daggers at her back, willing her to move, but it didn't work.

I watched her while I smoked and tried to warm up my fingers. Actually, now that I considered it, the bright red splash of her umbrella over her head sort of worked in the composition. There was something mysterious and appealing about her slim dark figure in her black trench coat, with her long dark hair and the little black wool hat perched on the back of her head. She turned her face a little to the side, as if she was looking for someone, and I caught a glimpse of pale smooth cheek, the color creamy with a hint of pink.

Unthinkingly, I threw my still lit cigarette to the ground where it fizzled out in a puddle and I grabbed my brush, smearing it into the alizarin crimson on my palette. Before I knew it, I'd roughed her in, her black coat, her long swing of dark hair, the bright red of her umbrella. She mostly looked straight ahead out at the Seine, so I never saw her face. Occasionally she would look to the right or left, like she was looking for someone, but there was nothing particularly expectant in her attitude. I decided to paint her like that, her face slightly turned, to draw the viewer into her story, the same way I found myself drawn in by that girl.

As I painted, I wondered. Who was she? What on earth had brought her out here alone at this time of night in the rain? It was late, it was dark, she was young. Was she waiting for her boyfriend? If so, he hadn't shown up. But something about her attitude didn't look like she was expecting a man. It was then, as I glanced up at her again, that I noticed the paper clutched in her right hand. She was reading something, repeatedly. A letter? As I watched I saw her head drop a little and her shoulders begin to shake almost imperceptibly. Was she…_crying_?

Now I was consumed with curiosity. Was she jilted? Was it bad news? If so, why did she come here at night in the dark to re-read her letter and cry? I wondered for a minute if I should go over there, see if she was alright, if she needed help. But the selfish needs of my painting made me hang back. Part of me wanted her to remain a mystery, just like she was in the painting. And besides, I'd seen enough people cry in my lifetime. I really didn't need to go seeking out anyone else's sorrows.

I worked in some more viridian to the shadows of her coat, then glanced up at her again to examine the exact color of her skin.

She was gone.

Where the hell did she go? I spun in a quick circle, surveying the whole of the tiny park, but she was nowhere. She'd vanished as suddenly and as quietly as she'd arrived. I turned back to my canvas. Bloody hell. Her figure was central to it now, the visual kick I'd been looking for all along. And she was gone. I'd have to finish her from memory. I ran a hand through my damp hair in frustration. The cold and the wet caught up to me in a rush now that my creative high had passed, so I quickly packed up my palette and paints and folded my easel, slinging it from it's strap across my back.

As I left the Square du Vert-Galant and headed for the Pont Neuf, I swiveled my gaze to either side, looking for the girl and that red umbrella, but there was nothing. The streets were nearly empty, just a few huddled dark figures rushing home to get out of the wet and cold, just like me. With a sigh, I gave up the hunt and turned towards home, climbing the steps to the bridge. I pulled my jacket collar up around my neck as I crossed the Pont Neuf, trying to keep out the biting wind whistling up the Seine.

Making my way down the Rue Dauphine towards home, I tried to put her out of my brain. It was just some random accident that she ended up in front of me tonight anyway. She didn't even know I was there, hidden in the shadows of Jules's stand. I had nothing to do with whatever was bothering her, whatever left her cold and crying next to the Seine…Damn. Stop thinking about her.

I heard the music as soon as I turned the corner onto Rue de Jardinet, and when I reached the pale gold house at the end of the street all the shutters were open and light poured from every window down onto the cobbled road. The front door was slightly ajar and the hum of voices reached me before I even stepped inside. I pushed in, squeezing around two men standing in the entryway engaged in a heated debate, arms flailing. I scooted around them, dodging wildly gesturing hands.

A quick glance through the arched doorway into the parlor to my right showed it was filled with people. A haze of cigarette smoke hovered near the ceiling. There was a man at the piano in the corner playing something while a woman in a tight green dress lay across the top, singing along. His song was competing with the sounds of Louis Armstrong playing on the record player somewhere else in the house. There was a handful of people, three men and two women, standing next to the piano, but they were all talking animatedly to each other, oblivious to the woman writhing on the piano a foot away. In one of the window seats, half hidden by the curtains, a couple was curled around each other in an intimate embrace. He had one hand up under the hem of her skirt.

I heard more voices from ahead where the dining room was and others floating down from the floors above. I sighed in exhaustion. I really wasn't ready to face another gathering tonight.

"Edward!"

I had hoped to make it to the stairway unnoticed, but the low sultry voice stopped me in my tracks. I turned with a smile to greet the stunning woman with the upswept caramel hair making her way towards me. Her dark red cocktail dress hugged every curve on the way down. The neckline was wide and low, leaving her creamy shoulders bare. She was not young anymore; she hovered in that perfectly preserved undefined age somewhere in her late 30's that French women wore so well. Her hazel eyes were shadowed with makeup and as she looked at me, one penciled eyebrow arched questioningly, her bright red lips curling in delight.

"Good evening, Esme," I murmured, slipping my arm around her waist when she got within reach. She tilted her face up to me expectantly and I leaned down to kiss her smooth white cheek, "Looks like a full house tonight."

She looked around, bemused, as if she'd just noticed the dozens of people milling around her house.

"This? Just a few friends, darling. Where have you been, mon cher?" she patted my chest gently, her rings flashing.

"Out painting in the park," I sighed.

"The painting, it goes poorly?" she asked, her face concerned.

"No, actually, tonight it finally seemed to come together. I was painting…and then I saw…oh, never mind. It doesn't matter." I was suddenly reluctant to mention the girl with the red umbrella. I wanted to keep the mystery of her all to myself.

But there was no getting anything past Esme. "Ah," she murmured with a sly smile. "There was a girl."

"Esme! I was painting the river!"

"But your eyes are filled with a woman," she said, cupping my cheek with her hand.

"You're imagining things, love," I smiled down at her.

"Well, in that case, I can tell you," she said with a shrug, "Victoire was here tonight, looking for you."

I winced, relieved I'd missed that. One time. Just one time with the girl and I couldn't shake her loose. Esme laughed at the face I made.

"I thought you'd feel that way, so I chased her off. It wasn't easy. Persistent, that one. And Irina is here. She just came. Lovely girl…"

Hmmm, Irina? My thoughts skimmed over her long pale blonde hair, her blue eyes, her tall, willowy frame…But lovely as she was, tonight, for reasons I couldn't explain even to myself, she held no interest for me.

"Not tonight." I shook my head. Esme cocked an eyebrow at me in wonder. I couldn't blame her, I was a little in wonder myself.

She chuckled and shook her head, then her gaze snapped up to mine, as if she'd just remembered something, "Ah, Edward! There is this painter here. Mon dieu! Such genius! Elton…no!…Ellsworth. You simply _must_ come meet him." She grasped my wrist and started to drag me back towards the dining room, but I resisted.

"Esme, not tonight! I'm frozen and soaked. I just want to go change and warm up."

"D'accord. Oui bien. Go, mon cher. We'll talk in the morning about your mystery woman." She reached up and ran a hand through my hair before giving me a gentle push towards the stairs.

"Esme, there's no mystery woman!" I protested, laughing and running a hand through my own hair where she'd mussed it.

"Bien, bien,' she said, that wicked smirk curling her lips again. Then she turned towards the parlor and her attention was drawn away by someone there. "Claudette! Bon soir! Ça va?"

I made my escape up the stairs before she remembered someone else I simply had to meet. I climbed the two flights through the main body of the house, dodging guests sitting on steps and chatting in the hallways in clusters. A few familiar faces smiled or waved and I waved back, but didn't stop to chat. When I reached the third floor I made my way down the hall to the back of the house, to the narrow curved wooden staircase that led to the attic, my room.

No one was hanging around this far back in the house and the voices and the music gradually grew faint. I climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to the garret. It was dark inside so I groped my way to the little table along the wall with the lamp on it. The light it provided was meager, but it was enough so that I could find my way around my familiar space. On most nights the ambient light from the Paris skyline coming in through the slanted skylight on the left helped illuminate the room, but it was too murky tonight.

I dropped my easel inside the door and propped the canvas carefully against the wall. My small bed was against the wall on the left under the skylight, and the little raised area that acted as the kitchen was along the right hand wall, flanked on either side by tiny dormer windows that fronted the street. I stripped my clothes off as I crossed the room, dropping my wet jacket across the kitchen chair, peeling my damp shirt off and throwing it on the floor. I was left in just in my trousers and undershirt, still feeling frozen.

I found what I was looking for in one of the rickety kitchen cabinets, a bottle of scotch Emmett gave me for Christmas, and poured myself a healthy glass. I threw myself into the collapsing overstuffed armchair and propped one heel up on the table, staring out through the skylight at the rooftops of Paris as I drank the scotch and felt the warmth creep through me. I was tired and cold, and the garret was as chilly and drafty as it always was, so I figured the scotch was necessary to ward off the cold. I was sure it had nothing to do with helping me erase the image of a slim dark figure, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

I sat there until I drained the scotch, until I could feel my fingers again. I needed to move over to the bed and at least try to get a decent night's sleep, but sleep meant dreams and they were all too often unpleasant. No, I'd avoid that a while longer if I could, so I got up and retrieved the bottle, settled back in my chair, and poured myself another drink.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for everyone who read and reviewed chapter 1! The livejournal page is up and running. **http://spanglemaker9(dot)livejournal(dot)com **You can find art, music, and photos that helped spanglemaker and I with our research! Let us know what you think :)**


	3. A Glimpse

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

* * *

_I think when I'm eighty-five, I'll still be able to close my eyes and see the gentle waves of the Seine from the tip of the Square du Vert-Galant. Royce teases me and tells me it's provincial to sit in the middle of the City of Lights and remember my backwater hometown, but there is a certain familiarity about this park that calls to me. Despite the lights twinkling in the water and the distant view of the Eiffel Tower, this place makes me feel closer to Forks, to you, dear Bella. Whenever I need a little peace, I find myself in this tiny square, a little green oasis in the center of an electric city._

*****

When I awoke the next morning, it took a second to register my surroundings. I was on a narrow bed, staring at a bright yellow wall. I sat up suddenly, slightly panicked. Then I heard Alice's trilling soprano voice from the other room. She was singing along to some French tune on the radio, accompanied by the familiar clang of pots and pans.

My eyes were still heavy from my crying jag in the park the previous night, but I felt lighter, freer. Today I would find out what Alice knew about Rose's disappearance, and today I would begin my search.

I stretched and wandered out into the apartment. The pajamas Alice had laid out for me the night before were soft and comfortable. They were also bright pink.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Alice sang when I entered the kitchen. "Sorry I had to duck out on you yesterday, but there were some things at the office I had to take care of. You were sleeping, and you looked like you could use the rest."

"That's okay." I took the mug she offered me and inhaled the rich, somewhat bitter smell of coffee. "I went for a walk when I woke up. I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed one of your coats and your umbrella."

She waved a hand airily and turned back to the stove, where she was busy with a pan of scrambled eggs. "I don't mind at all. If you're going to be wandering through Paris, you need to look less like you just got off the boat. No one will take you seriously if you walk around in the duds you came with. Speaking of which, I took the liberty of bringing you back some new clothes. No need to thank me."

She transferred the eggs to two plates and turned back to the table, smiling cheerily. I sighed and shook my head.

"Clothing is the least of my worries, Alice. I came to find Rose, and I need to get started as soon as possible."

The smile dropped from her face and she nodded once. "Of course you do. I wish I could be of more help, but things at work have been a bit gaga lately. I did some digging when she first disappeared, but I didn't have any luck. That's why I contacted you." She took a big bite of eggs and stood up quickly. "She left a note, you know."

I set down my coffee cup with a clang. "She did? Why didn't you mention it in your letter? What did she say?"

"Whoa, there, honey. One question at a time." She got up and walked to the little table next to the door. From the drawer she pulled a single sheet of paper. "It's short and to the point."

Wordlessly, I reached out for it. A few lines of Rose's familiar script ran across the top of the page.

_November 12, 1949_

_Dear Alice,_

_Our arrangement is not working out. I've found a different apartment and won't need to stay with you any longer. Thank you for your hospitality. Enclosed you'll find the rest of this month's rent and my key._

_Best wishes,_

_Rosalie Hale_

"This doesn't sound like her," I murmured, rereading the brief, cold note. Alice nodded vigorously.

"I know, that's why I worried. I tried to get the police to help, but they said without any evidence of foul play, there was nothing they could do. Officially, she's just a girl who decided to get a new apartment and not tell anyone where she was going." She scowled.

"Didn't you speak to her at all? I'm sure it took her some time to move out."

Alice flushed a little and gave me a sheepish smile. "I was a little busy that week. Met a fella, one thing led to another—"

Now it was my turn to blush. "Does that…" I stuttered. "Does that happen often?"

"I'm a hot-blooded American girl," she laughed. "It happens from time to time. And between you, me, and the wall, I haven't met a fella yet who could say no… but that's beside the point. Rose and I weren't best friends, but she was always sweet as pie. We weren't having any problems, except she'd been a bit distant since she started seeing that man."

She said "man" like it was a dirty word.

"Do you mean Royce?"

"Yes, _Royce_." Her voice dripped with distain. "She never brought him around, never even let me meet him. Almost as soon as she met him she started spending all her time with him. I think she even stopped going to school after a few weeks. He's bad news."

"No, that can't be," I protested. "She described him in her letters as a perfect gentleman. They were in love."

"Yes, well, I've met his kind of gentlemen before." She shot me a significant look. "And I seriously doubt love was what he was after."

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, combing through the tangles left from my restless sleep. I was sure that she was blowing Rose's relationship with Royce out of proportion; Rose would never get involved with someone who would treat her like anything less than a princess.

"Well, that note doesn't give us anything to go on. In her letters she mentioned he took her to the Eiffel Tower and on a cruise of the Seine. I thought I'd check there to see if anyone remembers seeing her recently."

Alice snorted. "Needle in a haystack, my dear."

"What do you suggest, then?" I snapped. "You wrote _me_, remember? This is what I have to go on."

"I'm sorry." She looked down for a moment, then squared her shoulders and jumped to her feet. "If you're going out into the city today, you really should look the part."

With that, she grabbed my hand and pulled me back toward her bedroom, the only room in the apartment I hadn't seen yet. It was a riot of color; scarves were draped over every available surface and clothing hung haphazardly from a stuffed armchair and a tall, tilted mirror in the corner. She grabbed a scarf, a jacket, and a skirt and pushed them into my arms.

"Now put those on and then I'll work on doing something with your hair."

"Um… don't I need a shirt to wear under the jacket?"

"That's what the scarf is for," she sighed, pulling at my hair. "It's too long, but I should be able to add some curls and pin some of it up."

An hour later, she pronounced me good enough. I was uncomfortable wearing just my underwear underneath the jacket, but Alice insisted that's how it was meant to be worn. She fluffed the scarf around my neck and looked me over critically.

"Not exactly Parisian, but you won't stick out like a sore thumb," she pronounced.

It was enough to make a girl feel downright beautiful.

After making sure I knew how to get to the Eiffel Tower, Alice took off for an assignment. We walked together for a while and she chattered about something called the "New Look." I admit most of it went over my head, but I gathered that I was wearing pieces she had pulled from a closet of samples they kept at French Vogue. I carried the trench coat I had borrowed the night before just in case it started raining again.

Armed with my new clothes and a photograph of Rose and I taken last summer, I waved goodbye to Alice and turned up the wide street running along the Seine. I figured I would wander the shoreline and inquire about Rose at the riverboats that docked there. I could follow the Seine directly to the tower, where I would start the second phase of my questioning. Alice had given me a tiny book of French phrases, but advised me not to bother with anyone who didn't speak English.

"Not on your first day, anyway," she laughed.

I found myself walking the same route I had the night before, this time crossing Pont Neuf and bypassing the park completely. I had gone to the Square du Vert-Galant the night before in a fit of despair, just wanting to be close to Rose in some way. I brought her last letter, which was probably a mistake. Standing there in her private spot, the one she said reminded her so much of home, and reading her words only made me feel that much further from where I belonged. I had given in to my homesickness and let myself fall apart for the second time that day. Luckily, the park was empty. No one was there to witness my moment of weakness.

Rose had never told me what Royce looked like, so all I could really do was ask the dock workers if they had seen Rose herself. While everyone I spoke was impressed by Rose's beauty, none of them remembered seeing her in person.

"A face like that I would remember," one man remarked cheerfully.

"She would have been with a man," I pressed. "They were in love."

"Who isn't?" laughed the man. "Paris is a city full of lovers."

I stalked up and down the docks, waving Rose's picture under every English-speaking face I could find. The place was crowded with tourists; vendors sold scarves, tiny models of various city landmarks, and offered portraits for a few francs a piece. Not one of them recognized Rose.

I took a break at midday, stopping at a small café for a baguette and a cup of coffee. The dockworker was right, there were couples everywhere. They passed by my table two by two, staring deeply into each other's eyes, or in the case of a few men, down their partner's shirts. The table next to mine was occupied by a pair of teenagers who couldn't stop giggling and leaning over their water glasses to sneak in kisses.

A strange, slightly wistful feeling came over me as I sat there. These people had come through a war—a full scale occupation followed by a battle for liberation. Their dreams and futures had been interrupted, if not taken away. Their clothing, gas, bread, and sugar were rationed, even now, but they lived their lives with passion.

I had only lived through the war by proxy, watching news reels of troops landing at Normandy and Okinawa. There were no bombs being dropped in Forks, Washington. A few of the boys I knew had gone to war, but none of them had died in battle. My parents took good care of me, and I even got to go to college, something many girls at my high school were unable to do. I was going to be an English teacher, which was a noble, if not exciting calling. When I graduated I would return to Forks to teach at the local high school, and in all likelihood marry Jacob. Jacob, who was dependable, and kind, and had loved me since we were 15 years old. We would be perfectly content together. He was predictable, but I always thought of it as a positive characteristic; after all, I hated surprises.

My life was solid and my future practically guaranteed, but I was rapidly becoming jealous of people who lived in a constant state of change and uncertainty. I snorted and dropped the last of my money on the table to cover my bill. The sooner I found Rose, the sooner I could return home. I had been in Paris for a day and it was already giving me funny ideas.

I walked to the tower as quickly as possible, determined that my afternoon would be more productive than my morning. After staring at it from a distance throughout the day, I admit I was anxious to see Eiffel's tower up close. It was taller than I expected, and every bit as surrounded by humanity as the docks of the Seine had been. To my great annoyance, they wouldn't let me up without a ticket, so I couldn't speak to the people who worked at the restaurants on the first or second level, or the people who operated the lifts.

It didn't take long to realize that Alice was right; trying to find evidence of Rose in a place like this would be impossible. Hundreds of people filtered in, out, and around the tower in the few hours I was there. Even someone as beautiful as Rosalie Hale would be anonymous here.

I wandered away from the crowds and back into the streets, letting myself get swept up in the press of people heading home from work after a long day. Occasionally I consulted with my map, just to be sure I wasn't hopelessly lost, but it was nice to simply follow my feet for a while. I saw the National Assembly and the Hôtel des Invalides. The descriptions in Rose's letters had not done this city justice, but I couldn't feel it in me to be impressed. All I felt was anger.

Everything my mother had ever said about the blessings of small town life came crashing down on me as I stomped my way past history.

_Someone is always looking out for you, never forget that_.

This wouldn't have happened in Forks, or even Seattle. My anger grew, and this time it was directed at Alice. She had let herself get so wrapped up in a hot and heavy entanglement with some _fella_ that she didn't even notice when her roommate moved out! Who does that?

Rose didn't have anybody to look out for her. Her parents were killed in a car crash when she was four. She was raised by her Aunt Helen, who lived next door to my folks. Helen died last year. Heart attack. She was only 45. Rose used the money she inherited from her parents to go to college, and she decided to spend her senior year in Paris, studying romantic poetry. At the time, I had supported her whole-heartedly. Now, I couldn't believe I had ever thought it was a good idea.

I made it back to Alice's by nightfall, but she still wasn't home. I was so frustrated by my failed search and the way she had let Rose down that I knew I was liable to say something foolish if I stuck around. It had started to drizzle again, so I decided to head out into the rain for a long walk. Anything to clear my head. I grabbed my winter hat and Alice's bright red umbrella and took to the streets.

For a long while, I just wandered down the main thoroughfares around Alice's neighborhood, watching the people run in and out of buildings, huddled in wool coats and stomping their feet for warmth. After spending my day out among the Parisians, there was a subtle familiarly about them now. I still felt out of place, but not as alien as before.

As the night deepened, I found myself walking once more toward the Square du Vert-Galant. A tiny voice in the back of my head whispered that maybe I would find her there. It was her special spot, after all, the place she went for peace and quiet. I could understand the appeal; it was an ideal spot to be alone.

The night was rainy and grey, although it wasn't as cold as it had been the previous evening. By the time I got to the park, hardly anyone was out. Only a few couples sat hunched together on benches near the entrance to the park, but other than that the square appeared empty. As I passed through the gates to the narrow sidewalk which would take me to the tip of the park overlooking the river, a flurry of movement caught my eye. Adjusting my umbrella, I peeked under it discreetly.

I wasn't alone. Someone had set up an easel under the eaves of a vendor's stall; a man, judging by the wild tufts of hair poking out above the canvas. He was bent over and I couldn't see his face, but some sixth sense told me he was watching me. I swung my umbrella back down self-consciously, hiding myself from view completely.

I kept up my casual pace, but the feeling of being watched followed me. The painter's eyes seemed to burn into my umbrella. When I reached the tip of the square, I made a conscious effort to stand very still, ignoring his presence to the best of my ability. He was an annoyance, nothing more. A witness to ensure that I wouldn't break down tonight as I had last night.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to force thoughts of failure from my head. Rose had a point, there was something about this place that made me feel every bit as isolated as I did on First Beach near Jacob's house. It was separate from the city, it was something other. I let that feeling of isolation soothe me as I took big gulps of misty air. The cold and wet didn't bother me; I had grown up under a near constant cover of rain. Odd as it sounds, rain soothed me in a way bright sunshine never could.

Despite the comforting tattoo of the rain on my umbrella, I couldn't shrug off the electric feeling of the painter's eyes on my back. It pierced through my calm and brought back all the agitation I had felt on my walk from Alice's apartment. Shifting from foot to foot, I tilted the umbrella back further and tipped my face toward the sky. My skin broke out in goose bumps.

What was he staring at? Maybe I was imagining it. Yes, that was it. He had probably glanced up at me as I entered the park and then turned back to his painting. Still, better to be sure. At least once I confirmed that he wasn't looking I could go back to enjoying the rain in peace.

I closed my eyes and turned slowly on the spot. When I opened them, I was staring at a wild-eyed young man with a crop of tousled, rain darkened hair. He gaped openmouthed at me for a moment, and then his lips tugged into a slow smirk. I shivered, and his smile widened.

He was dangerous, plain and simple: almost unbearably handsome, and his smile told me he knew it. His eyes traced my figure in the dark, and I could feel my face flushing in embarrassment. Then he winked, and I felt my irritation come surging back. I wasn't some cheap hussy, won over by a wink and a nod. I wasn't going to bat my eyes and follow him blithely to some Parisian bungalow so he could use me and toss me away.

I squared my shoulders and turned swiftly, striding forcefully from the park. The hairs on my neck stood straight up as I passed him, but I resisted the urge to look back again. By the time I got home I was sopping wet, my umbrella flopped forgotten at my side. I told myself that the rain had helped to clear my head, but I knew it was a lie. My thoughts were just as muddled as before, this time with images of a dark young man with smoky eyes. He wasn't safe, he wasn't predictable, and he certainly wasn't Jacob.

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**A/N: Thank you for everyone who is reading, reviewing, alerting, and rec'ing this fic! We've launched the livejournal site (**http://spanglemaker9(dot)livejournal(dot)com/**) and ignora has started a forum thread on twilighted! **http://www(dot)twilighted(dot)net/forum/viewtopic(dot)php?f=44&t=6756

**Let us know what you think!  
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	4. To a Stranger

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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A shaft of sunlight, grimy and hazy through the dirty glass of the skylight, stretched across my bed and eventually woke me. I groaned and shifted a little so my face was back in the shadows before I opened my eyes. Bloody hell, a little too much scotch last night. But at least I slept soundly, so it was worth it. I scratched my chest and reached my arm out to the bedside table, groping around until I found my cigarettes and lighter. Lighting one, I lay back on the bed and watched the smoke curl up towards the skylight.

Something about the slightly serpentine shape of the smoke over my head made my mind skip back to last night, to the slim graceful curve of her back as she stood at the railing….I groaned and rubbed my eyes in frustration. I really needed to stop thinking about that bloody girl in the park. I didn't even see her face, for Christ's sake. Certainly her presence triggered the painter in me, inspired me and moved the work forward. But that was all. I was just confusing artistic inspiration for…something else.

It was overcast today, but not raining, so I really needed to head out to the quai and try to sell some paintings. The tourist foot traffic was always down in winter and the sales of my kitchy little views of the Seine and the Notre Dame fell off sharply. Now that the weather was finally turning, I needed to get out there and paint and earn some money. My life here in Paris was cheap, but I still needed to make a little something to keep myself in canvases and cigarettes.

Rolling out of bed, I snuffed out my cigarette in a discarded glass and headed off to the water closet to splash some water on myself. I found a white shirt that was passably clean and tugged my trousers back on, sliding my suspenders up. Thankfully my jacket was dried out after last night, so I grabbed it off the kitchen chair and shrugged into it. I glanced in the spotted, cracked little mirror over the sink and ran my hands through my hair. It was far too long, but I had neither the money nor the inclination to get a haircut. I wet my hands and raked them through it, flattening it a little. Better.

The paints and easel were all still packed up and sitting by the front door from last night, so that was ready to go. After a few minutes of searching, I turned up a few small cheap blank canvases that I threw in with the rest of my supplies. I situated my easel across my back and picked up my bag of supplies. As I opened the garret door that led to the stairs, I spotted the canvas from last night, still leaning against the wall. The figure of the girl was very rough, only hinted at really. I'd have to spend some time working into it. Maybe I could find a few minutes for it today…I glanced over my shoulder at the skylight. Overcast. Maybe it would rain tonight, I thought hopefully. I snatched up the canvas and headed downstairs.

I took the back stairs down to the first floor, coming out in the large sunny kitchen and bending to deposit my gear by the door.

"There you are. I missed you last night. Esme said you slunk off to your room as soon as you got in!"

Carlisle was standing at the stove fussing with the coffee pot. He was still dressed for the outside, wearing his light jacket and a tweed cap over his blonde hair. He must have already gone out to the market this morning. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Eleven. Alright, it was no wonder he was up. I was just too knackered to get out of bed at a reasonable hour.

"Good morning, Carlisle. Yes, I was soaked and frozen when I got in. Not up for socializing."

"But Irina was so disappointed," he said with a smirk, never looking up from the coffee.

"Yeah, Esme told me. But…no. No, thank you."

Now he turned to look at me, cocking one eyebrow at me questioningly. We had a close friendship and he took a great deal of delight in teasing me, but at the end of the day, he was still my uncle and talking to him about women was, frankly, a little odd. So I tried to sound casual and dismissive.

I shrugged, "I don't know, Carlisle, I just didn't want her."

"Fine, fine. Suit yourself. Esme said you've got some new girl anyway."

I snorted in laugher. "Esme's barmy."

Carlisle chuckled, "Yes, well, we all know that."

"She said she saw her in my _eyes_."

"Is there a girl in your eyes, Edward?" Carlisle asked, only half joking.

"Bloody hell, Carlisle, she's made you barmy, too!"

He laughed and finally let it drop, thank heavens.

"Coffee?" he offered.

"Please, although you do make the worst coffee in all of Paris," I said with a smirk. The teasing went both ways.

"Absolutement!" Esme's voice drawled from the door. She was wrapped in a brightly colored floral silk robe, her hair loose around her shoulders, a cigarette gripped lightly in her fingertips. She'd just rolled out of bed, but her red lipstick was already in place, "Really, Carlisle, my love, twenty years in Paris and you still can't make decent coffee!"

"If you would just learn to drink tea, Esme," Carlisle sighed. "After all, I am British. The English make _tea_."

I snorted and rolled my eyes. I couldn't make a decent cup of tea to save my life.

"Quelle horreur!" Esme gasped. "Tea! Can you imagine, Edward?"

"No," I said, shaking my head, "I can't."

"And you, my boy," Carlisle shook an accusing finger at me in jest, "Turning your back on your fine English heritage!"

"Carlisle, I will take even your wretched coffee over a cup of tea any day." And to prove my point I crossed the kitchen to pour myself a cup of Carlisle's truly vile coffee. Maybe I could pop into a café once I got down to the river for a cup of something decent.

Esme pushed off the doorway and crossed the room to stand next to Carlisle, wrapping her arms around his waist. He curled his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head as she nestled her head under his chin. I watched them out of the corner of my eye, smiling at their affection.

"What are you up to today, Edward?" Carlisle asked.

"Painting by the river. I'll try to sell some pictures. If it rains tonight I'll head back over to Vert Galant to do some work on my other canvas."

"Ah!" Esme cried, "The mystery woman!"

"Esme…there's no mystery woman," I lied, "Just a cold empty park and a river that I'm trying to paint!"

"D'accord. Keep her to yourself then, if that makes you happy."

She left Carlisle's side and came to stand in front of me, placing her hand on my cheek. "As long as something is making you happy, mon cher. You should be happy."

I looked down at Esme and felt an unexpected surge of emotion tightening my throat, seeing the empathy in her face. I hated it when she felt sorry for me, it made me feel so small and broken. Of course that was never Esme's intent, she just wanted to take care of everyone, to make the whole world happy. It was simply that she had her work cut out for her with me.

"I need to get going," I said, my voice gruffer than usual.

"Did you eat?"

I rolled my eyes at her attempts to mother me. As if Esme would ever cook.

"I'll grab something down by the river."

"No, no! Madame Chernot came by yesterday and brought me the most divine cheese! Take some with you! And look, Carlisle brought some baguettes from the market. You're too thin, Edward," Esme began to bustle around the kitchen, cutting a hunk off of the cheese her next door neighbor brought and breaking off half a baguette. She thrust it all at me and all I could do was stuff it in my bag and promise to eat it later.

"Edward." I was almost out the door when Carlisle's low voice stopped me. He slid an envelope across the counter to me. "This came for you today. A letter from your mother."

I stared at the small white envelope for a long moment, "I'll read it later," I said, snatching it off the counter and stuffing it in my back pocket. Carlisle shrugged.

"It's a bit chilly," he said. "You should take a hat."

I grinned broadly at him before diving across the kitchen counter and snagging his cap off his head. "Alright then!" Pulling it down on my head backwards, I sprinted out the door, hearing Carlisle and Esme laughing behind me.

Carlisle was right, it was cool this morning, and I was glad I had stolen his hat as I walked along the Quai Voltaire towards the Eiffel Tower. I thought about heading all the way up to the Tower itself, but I didn't really like painting there, so I settled on the Quai d'Orsay. I'd have a good view of the Tuileries, and I hadn't painted that in a while. These little tourist scenes I did were tedious, and I'd take a break in the monotony any way I could get it.

The Quai d'Orsay turned out to be a good idea. There were only a couple of other vendors set up there today and a pretty decent trickle of tourists ambling by. I waved at Antoine, another painter that I knew a little from these afternoons on the Quai, as I got my easel set up and prepped a small canvas. I propped a handful of small Paris scenes I'd painted on other days along the low wall behind me, all the usual stuff: the Notre Dame, the Pont Neuf, the Eiffel Tower. I swear I could paint them in my sleep.

The afternoon got off to a brilliant start when a mother and daughter stopped to look at my canvases. Americans, from the look of them. The mother was maybe forty, but well-dressed and heavily made up. Her daughter was about twenty, with strawberry blonde hair, light golden skin, and a yellow print dress just tight enough to show off the voluptuous curve of her breasts and her tiny nipped-in waist. She trailed silently behind her mother, white-gloved hands clasped lightly behind her, a chaste pose that only served to thrust her breasts out farther. I was fairly sure that she was well aware of that.

The mother stopped to examine a painting, and then stopped again to examine me surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye. As she turned back to the paintings, the daughter paused to look, turning her head slightly to the side and throwing me a wicked little smile. Alright then. I had to figure out how to play this one. Flirt with the mother or flirt with the daughter? The mother was more likely to part with a few francs for a painting, but the daughter…she was luscious.

I stood up from my canvas and came to stand near them.

"See anything you like?" I murmured.

They both turned to examine me, they both looked flushed and flustered by my words.

"You're not French," the daughter spoke first, surprised.

"No," I said, "I'm from England."

Her face fell slightly as she considered this. Clearly she was entertaining some fantasy about an exotic French artist and was disappointed to find me_ not_ French. I smiled at her warmly and her face relaxed. I guess she decided that English was close enough.

"I was looking for a painting of the Arc de Triomphe. Do you have one of those?" the mother said, rounding on me. I was a little put out that she sounded like she was ordering out of a catalogue, but I flipped through a stack of canvases I hadn't set up yet and produced one I'd done of the Arc de Triomphe last fall. She took it from me, pretending to examine it closely, although I doubted she knew anything at all about art.

"My, you are talented, aren't you?" she murmured, looking up at me though her heavy, dark eyelashes. She was attractive for her age, there was no doubt about it. I began to calculate how much I could reasonably ask for the painting.

"So I've been told," I replied with a grin. Her answering smile deepened and her eyes traveled down the length of my body rather shamelessly. Her daughter, standing to the side, huffed slightly and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I _would_ like to have something to remember Paris by," she said pensively, making a show of looking back at the canvas.

"Well, that one means a lot to me. You know, I wasn't planning on parting with it. But I would hate to disappoint you. I do so love making beautiful women happy…" I trailed off.

Her dark eyes flashed up to me, "How can I convince you to give it to me?" she cooed.

I smirked at her and moved a half step closer as we began to negotiate the price, heavy with innuendo. Eventually we settled on a sum that made her feel like she was getting a deal on the masterwork of an unknown genius and made me feel like I'd made a small windfall on a cookie cutter piece of trash I'd turned out in an hour. We concluded the transaction and I fished a piece of brown paper out of my bag to wrap her canvas in. Her daughter trailed behind, casting me questioning looks which I tried to ignore.

The mother happily accepted her painting and I happily accepted my francs. She expressed how much she hoped she might see me here again before they left for the states and I returned the sentiment before I settled back down to my canvas to paint.

I glanced up at the river again. They had stopped a few dozen yards ahead, the mother looked out across the Seine, the daughter turned…and looked back at me. She smiled broadly when she caught my eye and I smiled back and waved slightly. Then my gaze was immediately pulled past her to a figure standing behind her, against the railing…a slender girl in a black coat. My heart began to beat slightly faster instantly. Was it her? The dark coat, the long swing of dark hair, looked the same. There was no red umbrella, but then again, it wasn't raining. Her face was turned away from me, but it wouldn't have mattered since I never saw her face.

I was such a twit. It was just a girl with dark hair in a black coat. There must be thousands of them in Paris. But I already felt like I'd know the shape of her anywhere and that sure looked like her. She turned away from me, walking slowly up the quai, her face turned towards the river, as if she was examining the barges tied up below.

Before I was aware of what I was up to, I stood up and started in her direction. The quai was more crowded now and people crossed between us, obscuring her from my sight. I caught another glimpse of her before the crowd engulfed her again. When they parted this time, there was no sign of her. I quickly scanned the railing for her dark shape, but she was gone…again. I cursed softly under my breath. I was losing my mind, surely. What right thinking person goes chasing down some girl he's only seen once, from the back? Barmy, for sure.

"Are you looking for someone?"

I looked down, distracted. The daughter, standing in front of me, smiling up at me. I smiled sheepishly. Of course, it must have looked to her like I was running after her. I smiled, I waved, I shot to my feet like a bloody madman.

"Ah…just…enjoy your stay in Paris," I stammered stupidly. Her face fell in disappointment as I turned on my heel and headed back to my easel.

I had just settled back down to paint when I heard a familiar drawling voice and slow clapping.

"Applause, applause, Edward!"

I turned to see Emmett, leaning on the wall behind me, clapping his hands.

"Shut up, Emmett," I said with a grin.

"What? That was a goddamned brilliant performance! I bow before your genius! The mother _and_ the daughter! I swear, Eddie, that face of yours should be registered as a deadly weapon, at least where the ladies are concerned."

Emmett pushed his huge frame off the wall and came to stand next to my easel. I reached out and shook his hand in friendly greeting. I'd met the burly American a few months back at the jazz club where I played and we'd struck up a friendship. Emmett was straightforward and honest. A friendship with him was easy and uncomplicated. Plus, he had great taste in music and he was always game to come along with me to see the great jazz artists who came to Paris to play.

"Cut it out, Emmett. She had a genuine appreciation for my…talent."

"Well, she was certainly appreciating something," he laughed, then he glanced pointedly at my crotch, "but I don't think it had much to do with your talent. At least not the painting kind!"

"Alright, alright. You've had your fun at my expense. What brings you down here, mate?" I asked.

"I was looking for you. I had a break in my day, thought I'd see if you wanted to get an early dinner. Maybe Café de Flore?"

I rubbed the back of my neck thoughtfully. I'd barely touched the painting of the Tuileries, so I should probably stay and work. On the other hand, I'd just made a tidy sum on that painting of the Arc de Triomphe, so I was feeling flush. And the prospect of a decent meal with Emmett at Café de Flore was appealing.

"Ah, bloody hell, I think I'm fated not to get any real work done today anyway. Why not?"

I stood up and started packing up my stuff. Emmett stood off to the side, watching me put my things away.

"Something bothering you, Eddie?"

"Edward," I corrected reflexively, although I knew Emmett would persist in calling me Eddie in spite of it. "No, why do you ask?"

"I don't know. You just seem a little tense, out of sorts. And when I saw you over there on the quai you looked like you'd just seen a ghost."

"Just…I've just…" I trailed off and thought about what I should say. Should I tell Emmett about her? Emmett had the least artistic, least poetic soul I'd ever encountered, so on the one hand, no, he'd never understand this strange fixation that I'd developed for this mystery girl. But on the other hand, Emmett had spent countless nights at Esme's, surrounded by her motley crowd of artists, poets, musicians, writers and all-around freaks and he'd somehow fit right in. This burly American businessman thoroughly embraced the three ring circus Esme ran at her place, and Esme positively adored him. So maybe he'd understand better than I expected. Maybe he really would get it.

"What?" he prompted, hoisting my easel on his shoulder as I hefted up my bag.

"It's just…" I sighed heavily, needing to unload to someone. "Let's go get some food and wine and I'll tell you. Although I'm sure you'll think I'm mad."

Emmett laughed and clapped his huge hand down on my shoulder, making me wince slightly.

"Eddie, I'm sure it's not that bad!"

* * * * *

"So let me get this straight," Emmett said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "You still haven't seen this girl's face?"

We were settled at a sidewalk table at Café de Flore, the plats du jour in front of us, rapidly making our way through a carafe of wine.

"Right."

"Just her back? All you know about her is that she wears a black coat and carries a red umbrella?"

"And she has long brown hair," I corrected, "Really pretty long brown hair." I flinched internally. I sounded like a complete wanker.

Emmett leaned back in his chair and laughed loudly.

"Holy smokes! You have it bad, kiddo."

I snorted in frustration and picked up the wine, refilling his glass and mine. I slugged back half of mine in one go.

"Thank you, Emmett."

"All I'm saying is that maybe the next time you see her, if there _is_ a next time, you should maybe try and talk to her. Or at least get a look at her face!"

I scowled.

"For all you know she's cross-eyed with buck teeth!" He shrugged absently. "But hey, maybe you like big teeth on a girl."

"Emmett!"

He sighed and tried to look serious.

"Look, I like you artistic types, but I don't always _get_ you. So you're telling me that she's…I don't know…some kind of inspiration, some kind of muse to you? Well, I don't know anything about that, but I do know a little something about men and women. So I'm telling you as a man who's got a thing for a woman, you just need to buck up and talk to her. See what happens."

"And what if I talk to her and she's just…ordinary? Right now she's like the soul of my painting. What if she turns out to be just some girl? Then what? My painting loses its soul."

Emmett chuckled and shook his head. "Guess you'll just have to take your chances. What if she's _not_ ordinary? What if she's extraordinary and all you ever did was stare at her back?"

I huffed and pushed my food around my plate some more.

"Here," he said, topping off my wine, "A little more liquid courage, and then out the door with you!"

I sighed and raised my glass. Emmett was right. Just staring at her was driving me mad. If I saw her again, I really needed to speak. Or at the very least, see her from the front.

* * * * *

It rained that night. Not as hard as it did last night and it wasn't as cold, but at twilight a misting rain started and kept up until well after dark. I hung out at a café until it was dark enough then I headed to the Pont Neuf and the Île de la Cité. I was nervous, casting glances to the right and left the whole time, but there was no sign of her yet.

Jules was happy to see me and tried to chat me up, but I was edgy and distracted. I couldn't say more than a few words before looking around myself expectantly. Even Jules noticed.

"Waiting for someone tonight, eh, Edward?"

"What?"

"You are waiting for someone, non?"

"No. Just painting, Jules," I said, trying to turn my focus back to the canvas.

Jules took a long pensive drag on his cigarette and absently smoothed his long moustache down with his free hand.

"You just seem nervous tonight," he said.

"No, not nervous. I'm fine." It was laughable, really. I could hear in my voice that I sounded anything but fine. I sounded nervous.

"D'accord," Jules said, and turned back to his book, leaving me to fret in silence.

There were too many people here. When she came last night the park was empty. Maybe she wouldn't come if there were people around. Then I mocked myself. Really? I'm getting superstitious about seeing some girl in a park? I settled down to work and did whatever I could to think about anything besides the girl. I worked on the reflections on the water in the painting in an effort to avoid her figure.

Gradually the park emptied out. I hardly realized it until Jules called his goodbye as he closed down for the night. A few scattered people sat on benches close to the entrance, but down here at the point there was only me.

I was turning back to the canvas, paint loaded onto my brush, when a flash of red to my left made my heart nearly stop. I glanced up just in time to catch the smallest glimpse of her profile before she dropped her umbrella to her shoulder, effectively shielding her from my sight.

She was here.

I didn't take my eyes from her as she walked past me towards the railing along the river. Like last night, she simply stood at the river, looking out, but there was no crying tonight. Her shoulders were set and unmoving, her head held high. Occasionally she would glance to the side, but somehow with even less expectation of seeing someone there than she had last night. But every time she turned her head I caught a tantalizing glimpse of her pale cheek and I was desperate for her to turn around so I could see all of her, her eyes, her mouth.

I made a show of working on her figure in the painting, I might have made a few pointless strokes of paint, but really I just stood there and stared, wondering how I had come to be so wholly obsessed by someone I didn't know and hadn't even properly seen. She seemed in no hurry to move on and I was in no hurry for her to leave. She just stood and watched the river. I just stood and watched her. Her still figure, the soft lapping of the Seine against the quai, lulled me into a sort of trance.

When she turned without warning, I fumbled and nearly dropped my brush. As I recovered and glanced back up, there she was, looking straight at me. If I thought I was obsessed with watching her back, then I was doomed now that I had seen her face. She was absolutely lovely. High cheekbones and a delicate little chin, perfect lips and dark eyes that had me positively pinned to my spot. I could hardly believe that she was finally looking at me. And I was standing here staring at her like a bloody idiot. I closed my mouth, which I realized was hanging open, and smiled slightly at her. Her eyes widened a bit and I smiled wider in response. I was positively elated that we had made contact, even if it only amounted to eye contact so far. She was still standing there like a little statue, so I winked as I grinned at her, hoping to break the tension. I was just a second away from taking a step towards her when she turned without a sound and sped towards the exit.

I took just a moment to think, wondering if I should chase her down or let her go. Chase her down and say what? You don't know me but I've been staring at you obsessively for two days and….Yes, that's bloody brilliant. She'll think I'm mad. Because I am. Well, let her think that, I thought as I ditched my palette and sprinted after her. There was no sign of her just outside the park or on the stairs to the Pont Neuf. I raced up the stairs and sighed in disappointment when I reached the bridge. Pedestrians hurried back and forth in both directions, but nowhere was there a hint of the girl with the red umbrella.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed! There's a thread now on the AH forum on Twilighted, and of course don't forget to stop by the livejournal page (**http://spanglemaker9(dot)livejournal(dot)com/**) Let us know what you think :)  
**


	5. Girl Before a Mirror

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

* * *

_I've never been a night owl, you know that, but Paris has changed me. The city comes alive late at night. Royce has been taking me to jazz clubs, little hole in the wall bars where people go and sit in the dark and find themselves in the music there. Royce likes to go because he says he meets valuable contacts, whatever that means. My reasons aren't so easily explained. I feel like I'm someone else in those clubs, or even like I'm no one at all. It's the most amazing thing: the smoke and the dark and the tune swallow you whole, and all you're left with at the end of the night is a certainty that you've brushed up against something marvelous… a fleeting piece of genius._

*****

"I hate to say it," Alice sighed, pouring two cups of coffee. "But I told you so. Everyone goes to the Eiffel Tower, and most people take a trip up the Seine at some point. They aren't unique to Rose, no one would remember her there."

I twirled a hunk of hair around my fingers, absently watching the curls spin out into loose waves. Alice had gotten home some time during the night, and I woke up for the second morning in a row to her cheery singing.

My sleep had been uneasy; a pair of dark eyes and a sly smile seemed to greet me from every corner of my dreams. I was grumpy and exhausted when I woke, and all my feelings of frustration came surging back when Alice's voice pulled me from my bed.

"Well you haven't been a fat lot of help," I muttered, swigging some coffee and grimacing. "Do you have any sugar?"

"Sorry, doll, everything's rationed these days. We're lucky to have the coffee, seeing as _technically_ I only get rations for one."

"Technically?"

"It helps to have connections." She flashed me a wide smile and winked, which reminded me of the painter from the park once again. I scowled.

"Your connections don't seem to be helping Rose any."

Her smile faltered, and she pressed her lips in a thin line.

"You got something to say?"

"Maybe I do," I shot back angrily. "The way I see it, this whole mess is your fault. If you had been looking out for Rose the way you were supposed to—"

"Back up, sweetheart," Alice snarled. "Rose is a grown woman. We're pals and all, but I'm not her keeper. I'm worried about her, and I want to find her as soon as we can, but this isn't on me. I couldn't be happier that you came to help out, but if you're going to give up and start laying blame after barely looking around for one day, well then you can catch the next ship back to the States."

She stood in the middle of the tiny kitchenette with her hands on her hips, chest heaving, daring me to speak. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I took another sip of coffee and stared down at the table. Alice sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I do feel a little responsible, I should have been here when she left. I've been looking for her since she disappeared. But she never told me anything personal, never even told me about you, let alone her family. It was dumb luck she left a few papers behind and I was able to get your address. I didn't know the first place to start."

"Rose doesn't have a family." I sniffled and my eyes teared up. "She's all alone. I'm all she's got." I bit my lip to try to stop the tears, but a few of them dripped down my cheeks and pooled on the tip of my chin. Alice slid into the chair next to me and dabbed at my face with a dishcloth.

"There, there," she soothed. "Rose is lucky to have a friend like you. We'll find her, you'll see."

I met her eyes for the first time since we started yelling. She looked determined and confident, even while she wiped snot and tears from my face.

"How do you _know_?" I whispered. She patted my cheek lightly with her free hand.

"I'm Alice, aren't I?" She laughed and stood up, tossing the dishcloth into the sink. "Did you bring any of her letters with you? I've always loved detective stories."

*****

Hours later, the kitchen table was littered with the letters that Rose had sent me between August and October. It was frustrating to comb through each one over and over again, looking for the smallest hint of someone we could talk to.

I hadn't noticed before how vague her letters really were. She almost never used names of people or places.

"Here, she mentions that friend of Royce's again…James," Alice mused, running her pointer finger across the letter she was examining. "No last name. Do you think she was a spy in a past life? It's like she doesn't want to be found."

"Of course she does," I snapped, snatching the letter from her hands. "This is the third reference to James, and it's always in a letter where she talks about jazz. He must be one of the contacts Rose talks about early on. A business associate, maybe?"

"I can see it now," she answered in a harsh, dramatic whisper. "James, creature of the underworld, lurks in a dark Parisian nightclub, waiting for the innocent damsel to fall into his clutches." She cackled a spooky, sinister laugh and then looked up at me with a grin.

"Knock it off," I muttered, turning to the short list I'd been making. The clues we had turned up were few and far between, but it was a start.

_Royce_

_Eiffel Tower_

_Seine River cruise_

_Club St. Germain_

_Les Trois Maillets_

_Le Tabou_

_James_

"That was the last one." She started to pile the letters together in chronological order, folding them and securing them with a rubber band. "I think we've got a good start here. We'll hit the pavement tonight and ask around. I know where all three of those bars are, we won't even have to walk very far."

"I don't know, is it safe? Walking around alone at night?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "I spend every night out in the city. Just stick with me, kid. It'll be just fine." Then her eyes got bigger and she jumped to her feet.

"We'll have to get you a new look! The wide-eyed and innocent routine works okay for the tourist spots, but you'll have to look like you belong tonight."

I fidgeted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the way she was looking at me. There was a speculative gleam in her eyes.

"You're good looking," she said, taking a step closer and pulling my hair from my hands. "You've got beautiful skin and a nice figure, but your hairstyle is a little old-fashioned. We can take care of that with a quick cut."

"What?" I gasped, yanking my head away. My hair was the one thing I truly loved about my appearance. It hung in long, chestnut waves to the middle of my back. Most girls wore their hair a little shorter, that was true, but I couldn't imagine walking around without the comforting weight of my hair. Alice's hair was shorter than most, and terrifying images of walking around looking like a shorn sheep flashed through my head.

"Just a little trim," she said coaxingly. "Not more than a few inches. I can take you over to my office and have a stylist look at you." When I shuddered, she laughed and let go of my hair. "It's just a haircut, Bella. It doesn't hurt. Now go get dressed and we'll head out, we have a lot of ground to cover today."

I stomped back toward my room, marshalling arguments against Alice's plans in my head. When I reached into my suitcase, however, all I came up with was a few pairs of underwear. Confused, I glanced around the room. The clothes I wore when I arrived had been draped over the end of my bed. They were nowhere to be seen.

"Alice!" I called, my face flushing with anger. "Where are my clothes?"

She peeked into my room and wrinkled her nose. "Oh, honey, those weren't clothes. Those were sacks masquerading as clothes. Trust me, I have plenty of things for you to choose from." She paused, then shook her head. "Never mind, I'll choose."

Five minutes later, she came back with another full skirt and jacket. "This will do until we get over to the office. I've had my eye on a dress that came in a couple of days ago, and I think it'll be perfect for you."

I got dressed and she pulled me out the door, snatching a felt hat on her way.

"You're a blank slate, Bella, do you know how exciting that is? You can reinvent yourself here in Paris." She hurried ahead of me down the stairwell. "I was in your shoes once. Fresh-faced and new, not knowing anyone. Now look at me!" She struck a pose against the railing, batting her eyes and swirling her skirts.

I snorted and continued past her to the first floor. "I'm only here to find Rose. When I find her, I'm taking her home to Washington, end of story. No blank slates, no reinventing. I have a very comfortable, normal life to get back to, thank you very much."

She sighed and flounced down the stairs. "Fine, live in denial. You'll see."

"You say that a lot."

"Well, you will. I know things."

"Right, well next time you gaze into your crystal ball, be sure to ask it where Rose went."

"Are you sure you don't want to know when you're going to meet a tall, dark, and handsome stranger?"

My breath caught as the painter's face flashed in my mind, and I stumbled slightly. She noticed, of course.

"Or maybe you already have? Bella Swan, you sly dog! Have you been holding out on me? Only in Paris for two days and you've already snagged a man!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Alice, where would I have met anyone?" It wasn't really an answer to her question, but it was technically true. We hadn't met; we only stared, connected for a few brief moments in the dark.

She sighed and shook her head. "You're no fun at all, you know that?"

"Did you post that letter for me?" I asked, swiftly changing the subject. When I arrived, I had handed Alice the letter I wrote to my parents, explaining that I was safe and with friends. I may have embellished a little bit, painting the living situation with broad creative strokes. I couldn't imagine my father being pleased that instead of a dormitory with chaperones and curfews, I was staying in an apartment with a practical stranger and venturing out into the city alone at all hours of the day and night.

"Of course, sent it off first thing yesterday morning," she answered. "A bit soon to be writing the folks, don't you think? Nothing's happened yet."

"They didn't exactly know I was leaving," I muttered, blushing a little. She beamed at me.

"Get out of town! You ran away to Paris without telling anyone? You've got more guts than I thought."

"I've got plenty of guts," I said, a little stung, though goodness knows why. Alice didn't know me, so her opinion really shouldn't have mattered. For some reason, though, I found myself caring what she thought. "My parents would have said no, and your letter really worried me, so I just got together some money and took a train from Seattle to New York, and then a ship from there. I don't know how I'm going to get home, I spent every last cent I had getting here."

I hadn't given a thought to the return trip, but I really had no idea how I was going to swing it. Hopefully Rose would have enough money left over to loan me the fares, and I could pay her back once we were home.

"That is one long boat ride," Alice whistled. "I was seasick for a week when I came over. Good thing I never plan on leaving Paris, or I'd be dreading the trip home."

We were hurrying through the streets now, Alice skipping ahead while I blindly followed. I had no idea where we were. We had left the major roadways behind us, turning down narrow streets and up alleys. I hoped she was taking a shortcut, not just getting us hopelessly lost in the middle of the city.

"You're never going home? Don't you miss your family?"

"Why would I leave this behind? Paris is where it's happening. I'm only writing about fashion now, but I have big plans. I meet everyone in the business through Vogue, and some day I'm going to start my own fashion house. New York may have clothes, but Paris has _couture_. Besides, my parents love to vacation in Europe. I see them often enough when they swing through the continent."

Her life sounded exotic, but I couldn't fathom living it. Just the thought of Charlie and Renee Swan "touring the continent" was enough to make me chuckle. Besides, my mother had a hard time when I was only a few hours away in Seattle. She would throw a fit if I tried to move to another country.

"Here we are," Alice sang, stopping in front of a nondescript building. She pulled open a door and gestured for me to enter ahead of her.

"I can't wait to introduce you to Paul." She grabbed my hand and tugged me past a reception desk. The secretary who sat behind it gave me an incredulous glance and then glared at Alice, who was too busy walking in the other direction to notice.

"Alice, are you sure it's okay that I'm here?" I whispered, staring over my shoulder at the well-manicured secretary, who was still giving us the stink eye.

"Of course it's okay," she exclaimed. "Why wouldn't it be?" She turned the corner, and before I could answer, she was leading me through another door. There was a row of mirrors set up along an entire wall of the room, all brightly lit with small yellow bulbs. The smell of powder and perfume hung lightly in the air, and people bustled to and fro shouting and passing bits of paper. I shrank into the doorway, but Alice pushed forward, not noticing I had stopped.

"Yoohoo! Paul!" she called. A tall blond man whipped around and grinned down at her.

"Alice, ma chére! I thought you were off today." He kissed both her cheeks and pulled her into a hug. He was so much taller than her that the top of her head didn't even reach his shoulder.

"I have a special project for you." She glanced around, searching through the crowd. Spotting me, she shook her head and waved me over. "Get over here, Bella. Don't be shy!"

"And who is this?" Paul extended a hand to my own and lowered his lips, brushing them over the back of my hand and glancing up at me through his eyelashes. "Enchanté, mademoiselle." I gulped, but Alice just laughed and elbowed him.

"Lay off the flirting, bub, you've got work to do. This is my friend Bella. She needs a haircut, but just a trim, you hear? I'm thinking just below her shoulders." She gathered my hair in her hands and twisted it, showing him what she meant. "Set it and comb it out in nice waves, something that'll keep for awhile. When you're done, I'm taking her over to the makeup counter." She turned back to me and gave me a hug. "I have to run to wardrobe for a minute, but you're in good hands with Paul. Just ignore the flirting and talk to him about boys, I bet you two have similar tastes."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed her shoulders, steering her back toward the door while I stared after them in shock. "Ah, you are the comedian today. Go, go, your Bella will be safe with me!" He pushed her out the door and turned to face me.

"Now that the fairy godmother is gone, we can get to work, yes?" I gave a tentative nod and he clapped his hands with a delighted smile. "Follow me, and try not to look so frightened, ma petite belle. I won't bite. Hard." He led me to the end of the row of mirrors, where several large sinks were set up.

"First I'm going to wash your hair, then cut it and set it in rollers. We've got some chairs in the next room for you to dry off in, and then we'll set your curls and pin you up. You won't have to do anything, so just relax and enjoy." He wrapped a big piece of cloth around my neck, draping it over me like a blanket, and pushed me gently into a chair in front of the nearest sink.

Paul chattered while he worked, scrubbing my hair with something that smelled vaguely fruity and sweet. His strong fingers worked circles in my scalp, and I felt the stress start to sap from my body. I fell into a light doze, waking up suddenly when he addressed a question to me.

"How do you know Alice, ma belle?" He rinsed the suds from my hair and reached for a towel.

"She's a friend of a friend," I replied, sitting up and leaning back into the fluffy white towel. "I'm staying with her while I'm in Paris."

"Alice is a good friend to have," he said, squeezing the excess water out and fluffing my hair a little. He directed me to a nearby mirror and grabbed a comb, working through the tangles gently. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend like I was back in Forks sitting in my kitchen, letting my mother brush my hair. Almost. The constant chatter around me, however, both in English and French, shattered that illusion.

"She knows everyone in the city," Paul continued, pulling out a pair of scissors and making some experimental snips at my ends. I held my breath as the little pieces of hair dropped limply to the floor. "And she's a loyal little thing. There's no one better." Snip, snip. A bigger piece of hair, this time about two inches long, fell from his fingers.

"Of course, she can be a bit pushy," he mused, his scissors working faster now. Snip, snip, snip. "But then, you already know that first hand, don't you?" He laughed, amused by his own joke. It was all I could do to offer a weak smile. My eyes were fully focused on the dark brown strands that he was tossing carelessly to the ground. Snip, snip. Snip, snip.

He seemed to catch on to my panic and set down his scissors abruptly. "Are you alright?"

I took a deep breath through my nose and nodded slightly, then shook my head. "I haven't gotten a haircut in a long time."

Smiling fondly, he patted my cheek and picked up his scissors again. "Ah, is that all? I know it's hard, but you'll see. Once we get you set in curls and styled, you'll love it. I promise not to cut it all off."

With that comforting little proviso, he spun me around to face away from the mirror and continued to cut. It seemed to take forever, but I distracted myself by watching the organized chaos that was unfolding around me. I couldn't understand half of what was being said, so I simply made my own interpretations.

The man near the door was gesturing wildly with a stack of glossy photos while he yelled at a woman in a purple dress. She yelled back, sticking her face right up next to his and spitting out a string of what I was sure were obscenities. I imagined he was an important photographer, and she, his beautiful but impudent assistant. She was the only one who would stand up to him, and he loved her for it. When she finished, he stared at her blankly for a moment, then grinned and passed her the sheaf of papers. With a cursory nod, she turned and flounced out of the room. Mission accomplished.

Two women sat in a corner, smoking and playing cards. They spoke softly, occasionally glancing at a tall man in a blue suit and fedora who leaned against the far wall. He seemed aloof, almost as if he didn't belong there. Was he waiting for someone? Perhaps the women at the card table were waiting for him to approach. If so, it looked like they would be disappointed. He never moved, never even looked at them.

I lost myself in daydreams while Paul rolled my hair into curlers. I loved to watch people, to imagine their lives and their stories. At one time I had thought I would be an author, but as I grew up, more practical dreams took the place of that one. Still, I kept little notebooks full of doodles and observations, half formed thoughts and flights of whimsy.

"All done!" Paul sang, startling me from my reverie. "Let's get you to a dryer, ma belle."

It took another hour or so to get my hair dried, set, and styled, and Paul refused to let me look in the mirror at any point during the process. He was a cheerful companion, and after a while I gave in a started to chat with him about the city and his life. He answered some of the questions I had about the jazz scene, and I told him about my life in America. He seemed surprised when I told him I didn't have a beau.

"A girl as lovely as you? Impossible!" he exclaimed, hairpins sticking out of his mouth comically.

"Well, there's a boy back home, but lately I only see him on school breaks," I admitted, thinking once more of Jacob. I was sure he'd been furious once he found out what I'd done. If I had told him my plans, he would have insisted on accompanying me. It was one of my main motivations for staying silent; I had to do this alone.

"Do you love this boy?" Paul asked, giving me a curious glance. I frowned. Love seemed like such a vague and indefinable concept. I certainly cared for Jacob a great deal, but did I love him?

"I don't know," I finally said, coughing through a cloud of hairspray that Paul was now aiming at my head. "He's a close friend, and we've known each other for years. He's told me he wants to marry me one day."

"There's no passion in your eyes," Paul said, shaking his head. "Love thrives on friendship yes, but also excitement and desire." He spun me around to face the mirror. "Love is beauty, ma petite belle. And so are you."

I stared open-mouthed at the girl in the mirror. It was just a haircut. Logically, it shouldn't have made much of a difference, but I couldn't get over the fact that the girl in the mirror was not the Bella I was used to. She was elegant and stylish, and her hair fell in sleek waves to her shoulders, ending with a gentle curl. A soft fringe of hair curled around my forehead, making my eyes pop. I blinked.

"Wow."

"I'll say!" Alice appeared in the mirror behind my head. "It's perfect. Thanks, Paul, you're a doll. Okay, Bella, you ready for your next stop? You're almost done, and then we can grab a quick bite to eat before our first club of the night."

"I've been sitting in this chair for hours," I whined. "Can't I just put on whatever dress you got me and call it a day?"

"And let you walk out of here half done up? Paul would never forgive me, would you, Paul?" She rounded on him with wide eyes, eyelashes batting shamelessly.

"Absolument! I'm afraid you must suffer through." Sighing, he offered me his hand and pulled me to his feet. He kissed both my cheeks and wrapped his arms around Alice and me. "Now, don't stay away for too long. Au revoir."

The makeup counter was far more terrifying than Paul's mirrored studio had been. Rows of false eyelashes lined one end, while creams and powders of every shade covered most of the rest of the counter.

"Don't look at me like that," Alice chided, picking up a round tin of an unidentifiable cream. "You don't need much, just some color and a little dark around your eyes." She caught me staring at the eyelashes and laughed. "You won't need those. They're for photo shoots, but they're a lot of trouble to go through every day."

She worked quickly, and true to her word, she left most of the makeup untouched on the counter. The worst part was when she lined my eyes with a heavy, wet paint. I kept blinking and tearing up, until I swear she was ready to throw something at me.

"Just look up and keep still," she hissed, holding my eyelid up with the tip of her finger. "I'm almost done, and if you blink again you'll smudge it and I'll have to start all over."

It was worth the whole, tortuous afternoon, however, when Alice pulled out the dress she picked out for me. I don't normally care much about clothing, but this dress was… it was perfect. Shades of white and blue washed through it like waves on the ocean. The straps gathered at my shoulders and left my neck and collarbone exposed. It pulled in to hug my waist and then flared in a full skirt. When I looked in the mirror and saw myself in that dress, I felt truly beautiful. I barely noticed the dainty black high heels she made me wear, or the new, blue gray trench coat she dropped on my shoulders.

"You're perfect," she breathed, staring at my reflection. "Dare I say it, but you look positively _French_."

I gave her a wry smile and turned away from the mirror, noting that she had changed while I was with Paul. She was wearing a silky, black number with crisp shoulders and sleeves that went about halfway down her arms. Her skirt wasn't quite as full as mine, but her neckline was far more daring, dipping down low to reveal the tops of her breasts. A jaunty cap with a feather sticking up was perched on her head.

Alice took me to a place called Café de Flore for dinner. It was near her apartment and apparently frequented by artists and philosophers. The patrons there looked like everybody else in Paris, but she insisted that the man sitting in the corner smoking was someone important.

"I can just tell," she whispered loudly when I asked her how she knew. "He looks like he's thinking deep thoughts. He's obviously an author, maybe a member of the resistance!" She sighed. "It's all terribly romantic."

I laughed at her and went back to my meal. There was something faintly ridiculous about the way she swooned over the man. He was middle-aged and craggy, with thick glasses that covered half his face. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about his black beret or leather jacket, or the writing tablet in front of him. She was right about one thing though—his brows were furrowed in concentration as he swigged his coffee and scribbled frantically, sometimes pausing for a long moment to simply stare at the passers-by. He was clearly thinking "deep thoughts."

Meanwhile, with each bite of my dinner I felt my nerves returning. Alice didn't think waltzing into a bar alone would be a problem, but I had my doubts. Paul made the whole scene sound edgy and dangerous; dark places for dark deeds. At the time I had thought he was kidding, but now that Alice was paying our bill and checking her makeup, our whole silly plan seemed terribly real. We had wasted quite a bit of time at the café, and it was clear she was anxious to get going.

"I think we'll start at Les Trois Maillets," she mused, standing up and hooking her arm through my own. "It's the tamest of the three, less likely to be crowded this early in the evening. We'll ask at the bar about James and Royce, and if we don't get anything we can head over to Le Tabou."

"Early? It must be nearly ten."

"The jazz scene doesn't get really hopping until eleven or midnight," she explained. "And Le Tabou is open the latest, usually until four in the morning."

I gaped at her. "Four in the morning? We won't be out that late, will we?"

She waved a hand airily. "We'll just let the night take us where it will. When it's time to go, we'll go. No need to over think it."

"And you're sure it's safe," I said worriedly. "We won't get robbed or kidnapped or—"

"Jeez Louise," she sighed. "Give me a little credit. I wouldn't take you anywhere dangerous. Just relax and enjoy the adventure!"

I followed half a step behind her, trying to approach the problem practically. Alice was clearly unconcerned about our safety, so that would have to fall to me. My father had taught me a little bit about how to handle myself around men, but most of his advice consisted of where to put my knee if someone got "fresh." I wasn't sure how much help that would be, but it was a start.

When we walked down the steps into the basement club, I was immediately assaulted with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. The lighting was dim, and a small stage was set up on the far side of the room. Someone was playing a piano, and a woman danced alone on the stage. Most of the tables were filled with people who were drinking and talking in low voices. A few men loitered by the bar.

Alice hopped up onto a barstool and waved to the bartender. He sauntered over, casting appraising looks at the two of us. I stationed myself behind her, ready to defend against anyone who got too close.

"A glass of red, please," Alice purred, batting her eyelashes. I would have rolled my eyes, but her flirting seemed to actually work. He grinned and poured her wine, swirling the glass before setting it down in front of her. He turned to me.

"And for you?" he asked in heavily accented English. I blinked, at a loss. I had never stepped foot in a bar before, and my experience with alcohol was limited to a champagne toast at my cousin Emily's wedding.

"She'll have the same," Alice said smoothly. She glanced over her shoulder at me and gave me a reassuring smile.

Turning back to the bartender, she flashed her teeth and leaned over the bar.

"I don't suppose you're familiar with a man named James? Spends time with another man named Royce?"

The bartender frowned and pushed a glass of wine toward me.

"We get quite a few people here each night," he mused. "One man would be hard to remember."

"Can't you try?" she wheedled, leaning forward again. Her chest was spilling out of the top of her bodice, and the bartender was staring. "For me?"

"Alice," I hissed. "You're not decent!"

She shook her head minutely and kept leaning. The bartender ogled, his eyes bouncing from Alice's face to her barely concealed breasts to me. I didn't like the way he looked at me, as if he was expecting me to follow suit at any moment.

"I know a lot of men by that name," he finally said, setting down the bottle he was holding. "But I may know the one you're interested in."

Alice grinned and straightened up just as a tall man with red hair stumbled into her stool. Everything happened very quickly after that. He reached out to steady himself; one hand landed on the bar, and the other grabbed my bottom. I reacted on instinct, twirling toward him and lifting my knee swiftly into his crotch. He was already half bent over, but when my knee came in contact with him he fell to the floor with a crash, hitting his head on the bar on the way down. Alice shrieked and jumped up from her stool, and the barman looked on in shock.

The red headed man groaned and twitched on the floor. He lifted his face briefly and I could see blood streaming from his nose and dripping onto his chin.

"What is going on here?" A huge, hulking man with a German accent came barging up to us. "Are you fighting in my bar?" He looked incredulously from the man on the floor to Alice and me.

"I…he…" I couldn't believe I had just done that, and I certainly couldn't form a coherent thought.

The large German's moustache rippled and he ground his teeth together. "I think you should go," he said slowly.

Alice turned back to the bartender, one eyebrow raised. He chucked a little and shook his head. "Look at Le Tabou. He spends many nights there."

She nodded and grabbed my arm, pulling me past the man on the floor, who was sitting up now, still looking a bit dazed.

We burst into the night air, Alice still tugging me along behind her. Suddenly she started making a choking sound, and then she was laughing hysterically. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and tried to slow her breathing, but she was laughing too hard. I couldn't see what was so funny, the entire situation was horrifying. Then I remembered something.

"Alice! We didn't pay for our drinks!"

My comment only spurred on more giggles from Alice. She waved her hands in front of her.

"Stop, stop!" she pleaded, blinking rapidly. "My makeup will run if I keep laughing like this."

After another minute, she finally got control of herself and took a couple of deep, noisy breaths.

"You are too much," she wheezed, clutching her ribs. "I've never been kicked out of a bar before. Where did you learn that? He was at least ten inches taller than you."

"My father is a police chief, and he told me what to do if I was ever cornered by a man." I frowned. "He also told me never to go out at night without an escort."

She looked me over, bemused. "Well, you're clearly tougher than any of us thought."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Of course!" She grinned and started walking again. "I hope I actually get to drink my wine at Le Tabou. I need it after that."

The entrance for Le Tabou was just like the one for Les Trois Maillets. Stone steps led down to a cellar bar, and the same cloud of smoke hung over the patrons. A small band played in the corner. The smoke obscured their faces, but their music was more upbeat than the piano at the last bar. This piano player was standing, bent over the keys and practically using his whole body to play while a drummer clanged out a beat behind him. There was sudden break and the trumpet player stepped forward, blowing a solo. The music seemed to live, surging through the club and wrapping around me like a cloak. I was mesmerized.

"Bella? Bella, snap out of it." Alice's voice broke through my daze and I turned to face her. She was holding two glasses of wine and grinning at me. "I lost you for a second. I'm glad to see you haven't knocked out any men while I was at the bar. I got a lead for us to check out. There's an American near the stage who might know something about this James. At least the bartender knew exactly what I was talking about right away this time. We're getting closer."

She turned and started weaving through the small tables, making her way toward the front corner.

"Are you sure we should just walk right up to him? Maybe we should get someone to introduce us," I said nervously, following close behind.

"Don't be silly, how scary could he be?" She laughed, then added, "Besides, I've got you to protect me."

We had reached the stage and the table that Alice was aiming for. A man with messy blond hair sat facing the stage, drink in hand.

"Excuse me," Alice said. The man didn't move.

"Excuse me," she said again, a little louder. He turned his head to look at us, and raised a single eyebrow. I gasped. The right side of his face was marked with scars, some of them whitened and barely visible, others slightly pink. They seemed to stretch down to where his collar covered his neck. He glowered at us for a moment while we just stared back.

"Excuse _me_," Alice breathed, walking forward a few steps and sitting next to him. He glared at her again, but there was something new in the way he looked at her. I didn't miss the way his eyes scanned her body.

"Alice, maybe we shouldn't bother the man just now," I whispered loudly, hoping she could hear me over the sound of the band.

"Nonsense," she said brightly, still locked in a stare down with the man. "I'm Alice, and this is my friend Bella. What's your name?"

He glanced up at me, then back at Alice, who waited expectantly. Sighing, he nudged out the chair on his other side with one hand.

"Sit," he said in a gravelly voice. I didn't move, and he glared again. "Sit down," he ordered again.

I sunk into the chair and took a gulp of my wine for good measure. I needed to do something, so I chose to drink. I coughed a little as wine slipped down my throat. It burned slightly.

"I'm Jasper Whitlock," the man said, turning back to Alice. "But you probably already knew that."

"I've been looking for you," she answered, smiling a little. I took another drink and winced as she batted her eyelashes yet again. He gave her a half grin and licked his lips.

"Is that right?"

The way they were looking at each other was making me uncomfortable, so I did the only thing I could think of. I opened my mouth.

"Well, _we_ were looking for you, Mr. Whitlock," I said briskly. He turned to me, surprised, and before he could speak I kept going. "We're looking for a friend of ours, and we know her beau spends time here with a man named James. The bartender was under the impression that you were acquainted with him."

Jasper swiveled in his seat and leaned toward me.

"And why should I help you?"

"Well, I… that is…"

I was interrupted by a hand on my shoulder. I turned and looked up into the face of the last person I expected to see in this bar. It was the painter from the park.

"Excusez-moi. Êtes-vous bien? Cet homme vous tracasse-t-il?" The rapid French flew from his lips, but all I could do was stare. He looked every bit as rumpled as he had in the park, except he was a little better dressed. From a distance I had thought he was handsome; now that I was inches from his face I knew he was so much more than that. His square jaw and bright eyes would be burned in my memory forever, no question about it. He was looking at me with concern, but also with an edge of possessiveness that made my stomach clench and my heart pound. I felt a flash of unexpected disappointment when he spoke French. If we couldn't understand each other… I almost laughed out loud. There was no reason to worry about whether or not I would be able to speak with the painter. He was just a strange man, interrupting our conversation and grabbing me without invitation.

When I didn't answer, he glared at Jasper.

I cleared my throat, and his eyes snapped back to mine.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak French."

He smiled widely and nodded. "Of course," he said. He had a clipped English accent now that I could understand him. Irrational relief flooded through me. "I just wanted to make sure this man wasn't bothering you. Are you alright?"

"We're fine," Alice said, looking from the painter to me with mystified eyes. "Thanks."

I turned back to Jasper, but the painter's hand remained firmly on my shoulder. I tried to shrug him off, but he didn't let go. After a moment, I turned back to him.

"Can I help you?" I huffed. He cocked his head to the side and finally dropped his hand from my shoulder, bringing his arms up to his chest and crossing them.

"You cut your hair," he said with a frown. "I don't like it."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for your reviews, and for your support!  
**

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	6. You Stepped Out of a Dream

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

* * *

She was here, in front of me. Finally. My mystery girl. I'd seen her up close, I'd spoken to her, I'd _touched _her.

The whole thing was surreal. I'd looked up from the piano to spot her like she was some apparition come to haunt me. The black coat was gone replaced by a bloody lovely blue and white dress, and her hair was different, shorter. As beautiful as she looked, and she did look beautiful, I felt slightly annoyed. She existed in my head the way I'd seen her up until now: dark coat, long swing of dark hair, red umbrella. Now she was colorful, stylish, and most importantly, _here_. In the flesh, in my bar, not two tables away from the stage, and…talking to some _really_ frightening-looking blond prat.

At that point some unfamiliar protective…possessive…instinct took over and before I knew what I was doing I was off the stage mid-song and stalking towards her, leaving Felix and Laurent staring after me from the stage, mystified. I'd reached her side and clamped my hand down on her shoulder, still not fully aware of my actions. I just wanted to make sure she was okay, and that the tough-looking scarred man wasn't hassling her, which is what I said, first in French, then in English when she surprised the hell out of me by being American.

Then I realized that she was still staring at me…no _scowling_ at me.

"Excuse me?" she said, her voice testy. I'd have never guessed she was American. Her clothes threw me: they looked French.

"Pardon?"

"What do you mean, you don't like my hair?"

Oh, hell, I hadn't said that out loud, had I? Mystery Girl was fuming. Apparently I had. Well, I'd bungled this from the outset.

"Do you two know each other?" her little dark-haired friend asked, arching one eyebrow and grinning expectantly. The scarred, scruffy blond man they'd been talking to was eyeing us with amusement.

Mystery Girl and I answered at the same moment.

"No," she said firmly.

"Sort of," I said.

"Well, which is it?" the little one snapped.

Mystery Girl cleared her throat and looked away, obviously embarrassed, "I sort of…saw him in the park."

"I knew it!" her little friend shouted, clapping her hands together in delight. "So _you're_ the stranger!"

"Alice!' Mystery Girl hissed at her companion. So she was talking about me to her friends? That made me feel marginally more confident. I put on my most winning smile.

"I'm afraid we were never formally introduced. I'm Edward Cullen," I said, holding my hand out to her.

She eyed me carefully for a long moment, clearly at war with herself. Finally the well-mannered girl won out and she slowly extended her hand to me, "Bella Swan."

I wrapped my hand around hers. Tiny hand, delicate little fingers. And so warm. Bella. Yes, she was.

She pulled her hand away, looking up at me, her face slightly puzzled.

"This is my friend, Alice Brandon. And this is Mr. Jasper Whitlock."

Alice sprang out of her chair and seized my hand in hers.

"It's awfully nice to meet you, _Edward_! Bella's been holding out on me!" Her grip was crushing for such a tiny thing, "Why don't you pull up a chair and join us?" I reached out and snagged a chair from the neighboring table and sat down next to Bella. She and Alice had a quick, silent conversation that seemed to consist of frowns and raised eyebrows and leering grins.

"Do you all mind moving the sock hop someplace else so I can finish my drink?" Jasper asked, irritated. Then he fixed me with a challenging glare, "And aren't you supposed to be playing? I came to hear some jazz."

I scowled back at him.

Bella turned in her chair to face Jasper. "But Mr. Whitlock, we need your help."

She was going to keep talking to this wanker? Jasper was looking annoyed and exasperated, but Bella leaned forward intently. There was no way I was leaving her alone with him. I scooted closer, until my knee was almost touching hers and draped my arm across the back of her chair. She didn't seem to notice, all of her attention focused on Jasper.

"And I repeat what I said before," Jasper drawled, "why should I help you?"

Alice leaned across the table, the front of her dress dipping perilously low, and laid her hand on Jasper's forearm. He swung his full attention to her, devouring her with his eyes. I hoped for her sake that Alice knew what she was doing. From the look on her face, she did.

"This James fella knows our friend. We just want to talk to him, that's all. Find out if he's seen her around." Alice dragged one fingernail down Jasper's forearm as she looked up at him from under her lashes. That girl was deadly. Bella shifted uncomfortably at my side.

Jasper considered Alice for a long moment. Alice never took her eyes from his and the air positively sparked between them.

"Club St. Germain. Chet Baker's playing there tomorrow night. He never misses Chet," Jasper ducked his head and chuckled ruefully, "and Chet never misses him."

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out what he was implying there.

Alice leaned further into him and purred, "See? Was that so hard?" Jasper looked back up at her and the two of them shared a long intimate look until Bella cleared her throat in irritation.

"Well, thank you Mr. Whitlock…" Bella began.

"Jasper," he snapped.

"Excuse me?"

"Mr. Whitlock is my damned father. I'm Jasper," he nearly snarled.

"Okay, then…_Jasper_. Thank you for that information. Now Alice and I will be going…" Bella started to stand and without thinking, my hand shot out to her arm to restrain her. She looked down at my hand, then at me, but I didn't let her go.

"What did you mean that Chet never misses him?" I asked.

Jasper leaned back in his chair and examined me, his pale blue eyes intense and slightly unnerving, especially paired with the faint map of scars up the right side of his face. "You play with these guys. You know what goes down. You _know _what I mean."

Bloody hell.

"You're not going near this James bloke," I snarled, speaking to Bella but not taking my eyes from Jasper.

"Excuse me?" Bella said, her voice tight with disbelief.

"I said you're not going near him."

She huffed and yanked her arm out from underneath my hand, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

"And your name is…?"

That snagged my attention and I turned to look at her, puzzled.

"I told you my name just a minute ago…"

Bella rolled her eyes, "I _know_ that. I was being sarcastic. I met you ten minutes ago when you charged over here and practically assaulted me before you insulted my hair. And now you're nosing into my affairs and forbidding me to go meet this man? What gives you the right to interfere?"

Alright, when she put it like that, she had a point. I was acting like a madman, like I already knew her and had some claim on her. Only it felt like I _did_ know her. After all, she'd completely invaded my every waking moment, and most of my sleeping ones, for the last two days. It felt like she was mine, in some strange way. Except that she didn't know that and clearly didn't feel the same way…yet.

I sighed and raked my hands through my hair.

"I apologize. I'm sorry I'm acting so rashly. It's just….when I saw you here, I recognized you from the park. It seemed like I knew you already, which is of course ridiculous, since we've never spoken, but then…" I trailed off helplessly. What was happening to me? Why was I spewing this rubbish at her? Bella looked at me, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, still waiting for a coherent explanation of my behavior. Of course, there wasn't one. I was simply going mad.

"But then I saw you talking to Jasper," I waved a hand in his direction and glanced over, but he was gone. And so was Alice. Bella saw the surprise on my face and turned to look. She gasped when she discovered the two of them missing.

"Where's Alice?"

I smirked at her and waved my hand at Jasper's empty chair again. "I can guess."

Her eyes widened and she shot to her feet. "I have to find her! He could…the way he was looking at her…he might…"

I put a steadying hand on her arm. "Calm down. Your friend looked more than capable of handling herself and plenty willing."

Bella narrowed her eyes at me. "Don't be ridiculous! She just met him, there's no way she would do something like that! He must have lured her off. They have to still be here."

She craned her neck to look around the smoky club, and then she started to move away, like she was going to go poking into every dark corner of Le Tabou looking for Alice. God only knew what she'd find there.

"Stop! Sit down! I'll go look for her."

Bella paused for a moment, then she did as I commanded.

"I know the place better. Just stay put. Drink your wine. I'll be right back."

"Okay."

"Do you promise?" I pressed. "You're not going to vanish on me again?"

She looked puzzled but nodded and folded her hands on the table in front of her.

"I'll wait right here. Just hurry before they're gone. Please!"

I chuckled and shook my head, but I headed off across the club to a dark alcove where I suspected they'd ended up, assuming they were still here at all. That corner was where everyone ended up when they were doing what Jasper and Alice were likely doing. Sure enough, there in the shadows I saw the tightly joined figures, Jasper's body curled around Alice, her tiny hands twisted in his hair. I cleared my throat lightly to let them know I was there.

Alice gasped and straightened and Jasper pulled away from her just enough to let her see me, swiveling his head to glare at me.

"Bella was worried. I said I'd check on you," I muttered, giving Jasper an apologetic shrug. He was still a scary-looking prat, but Alice looked more than willing and he was entitled to his fun. I never would have barged in if not for Bella.

"Oh…ha!" Alice laughed, flustered, waving her hands in front of her, "Yeah… poor kid. I should really make sure she gets home okay." She pushed away from Jasper a little and straightened her rumpled skirt.

Jasper turned to stare at her in disbelief. She mouthed "Sorry" at him.

"I could take her home," I volunteered quickly.

Alice looked back to me, eyebrows raised, appraising me.

I put my hands up in front of me. "I promise, she'll be okay."

She looked at me another long moment, her gaze curiously knowing. "Yeah, I know. Okay. Have fun. Tell her I'll see her…later. And that she shouldn't worry." Then she laughed lightly, "But she will anyway!"

"See you tomorrow," I said to her.

"Tomorrow?"

"St. Germain," I said tersely, looking hard at Jasper. "You're not going there alone."

Alice looked a little curious, but she let it go, and I turned away to hurry back and find Bella. So help me, if she was gone…

But she was right where I'd left her, eyes darting around the club, taking in everything around her. Her wine glass was empty in front of her. I hadn't _really_ meant for her to drink it, but maybe it was a good thing. She could stand to relax a little.

Bella shot to her feet when she saw me approach.

"She's fine," I said, putting my hands on Bella's shoulders lightly. Mostly I was just looking for any excuse I could find to touch her. The straps of her dress were narrow where they passed over her shoulders and my fingers curled around her bare skin, distracting me. "They just wanted to, um…get to know each other in private. She said she'd see you later."

Bella's eyes widened and she grew even paler.

"I told her I would walk you home," I continued, "Make sure you got home safe. Are you ready?"

She stood there staring at me for an immeasurable moment, probably trying to decide whether to go hunt Alice down herself or whether she should leave with me. I watched the thoughts play across her face, hoping she would finally decide I was safe. I smiled encouragingly. Something flickered in her eyes then and slowly she nodded. My smile broadened.

Dusting off my best gentlemanly manners, I offered her my arm and she cautiously slipped her little hand into the crook of my elbow. I glanced back at the stage where Felix and Laurent had kept playing in my absence, a duo now instead of a trio. Felix lowered his trumpet for a moment and caught my eye. I shrugged and nodded my head at Bella. He threw back his head and laughed out loud before giving me a thumbs up and a wave of the hand towards the door.

"My coat…" Bella murmured, looking up at me. "Alice checked them when we came in."

I steered her towards the coat check and convinced Sabine to give us Bella's even though we didn't have the claim ticket. The black coat I knew was gone, replaced by a light grey-blue drapey one. I missed the black, but I had to confess, the color of this one did something wonderful to her skin. I held it open for her and slid it up onto her shoulders, allowing my fingers to slip through her hair just a bit before I backed up. It was just as soft and silky as it looked. And she smelled fantastic.

"Ready?" I asked, hands in my pockets, doing my very best to look harmless and safe.

Bella just nodded. She looked a little dazed and I worried that her glass of wine might be getting to her a bit. I ushered her ahead of me out the door of Le Tabou and up the crumbling stone steps to the street level.

"Be careful," I said, reaching out in front of me to take her elbow, "the steps are always wet and slippery."

She nodded her head once. She didn't seem all too steady in those black high heels to begin with, the last thing I needed was for her to take a spill on the stairs under my watch.

"So," I said, once we'd reached the street, "where do you live?"

"Um, the corner of Rue Jacob and Rue de Seine."

"Okay, this way." I nudged her with my shoulder in the right direction. I wanted to take her hand, but I didn't know how that would go over, so I kept my hands in my pockets for now.

We walked in silence for a few blocks, but Bella's mind was clearly busy. She kept her eyes on the pavement and her eyebrows were knit together in a frown. I wanted to ask her what she was thinking, but I wasn't sure how, so I stayed quiet.

This idiocy that seemed to descend on me in her presence was truly baffling. Emmett's teasing aside, I did know my way around the fairer sex. I wasn't some ruthless lothario, but I knew how to talk to women. I'd spent the last five years in Paris flirting with French women, the women who wrote the book on flirting. I knew how to do this. Except not with Bella, apparently. When I opened my mouth to talk to her, I never had any idea what would come out and that was terrifying.

But walking the whole way home without saying anything to her was unacceptable, so I needed to start talking. And I needed to get her to talk to me.

"Why are you trying to find this James fellow?"

She looked sideways at me briefly before cutting her eyes back to the front.

"Um, we may have a mutual friend."

"Seemed awfully urgent if you were just hoping to catch up," I prodded gently.

Bella said nothing, she just flexed her hands into fists.

"Just tell me, Bella," I pleaded, "Maybe I can help."

She took a deep breath, as if she was considering that, before she started to speak. "My best friend, Rose, from back home in Forks, came to Paris last fall to study. A couple of months after she got here she stopped writing to me. I didn't hear a word about her until Alice wrote me at New Year's. Rose was her roommate and she just moved out without warning in November. No one's heard from her since. As soon as I got Alice's letter, I came to find her."

I let that sink in for a minute before I reached out and snagged Bella's arm, pulling her to a halt next to me.

"Let me get this straight. You came all the way to Paris by yourself to find your friend?"

She nodded.

"Why isn't her family looking for her?"

"She doesn't have any family. Her parents died when we were kids. She only has me."

"And what about _your_ parents? They were okay with you doing this?"

Bella looked at her toes as she stalled. "They don't know. I didn't tell them. I just left. Well…they know_ now_. I sent a letter when I got here explaining."

I was speechless. Absolutely bloody speechless. Emmett was right. Extraordinary. All I could do was throw my head back and laugh. Bella's head shot up and she scowled at me like I was crazy.

"I fail to see what's so funny about this situation!"

"Bella, you ran away from home….alone…all the way to Paris…I'm sorry," I said between gasping laughter, "It's just the very last thing I expected you to tell me!"

"Well, what was I supposed to do?"

I stopped laughing and looked at her. Her devotion to this girl Rose was really…so selfless. It stunned me. I reached out and wrapped my hand around her arm, giving it a little squeeze. "I'm sorry I laughed," I said, "You just surprised me."

She didn't pull away from my hand, so I let it slide down her arm until I was lightly grasping her fingertips with mine. A flicker of uncertainty passed across her face, but she didn't drop my hand. I turned to the front and tightened my grip, urging her to fall into step next to me.

"So," I continued with a deep breath, "What's James got to do with all this?"

"All I have to go on are the letters Rose sent me. She mentioned a few names and places. She mentioned James, she said he was a business contact of Royce. And she said they met him in jazz clubs. So that's what we were doing tonight."

"Who's Royce?"

"Her beau. Alice doesn't trust him, but I don't know…in her letters he sounded perfect."

"Have you asked him where she is?"

"That's who we're trying to find. We don't know anything about him, not even his last name. Don't you see? That's why we need to find James."

She was silent for a moment before she nervously cleared her throat and continued, "What did Jasper mean back at the club when he said you knew what went down?"

"Um, just that this guy James might be involved in some unpleasant stuff."

"What kind of unpleasant stuff?"

"Just…things you should stay away from," I muttered, looking off to the side.

She snorted in disgust and crossed her arms over her chest.

"What?"

"Just _tell_ me!" she huffed, "Everybody thinks I'm such a little girl and I can't handle it! I'm an adult! I'm _here,_ aren't I? Whatever it is, I want to know! I _need_ to know!"

"Okay, fine," I sighed in exasperation, "There's a lot of drug use in the jazz scene. Chet uses, I know that. What Jasper was saying is that James is going to St. Germain to sell to him."

"Sell him what?"

"Heroin."

"What's that?"

"A drug, it gets you high."

Bella was quiet for a second, then she turned her face to look at me, "Like in Reefer Madness?"

I laughed out loud, my voice echoing off the empty cobblestone streets around us. "Uh, yeah. Sort of."

There was a long silence before Bella spoke again.

"You said that a lot of jazz musicians do that. Do you?"

"No! Absolutely not!"

"Why not? I mean, if all the rest of them are doing it…."

"Bella, it's not like Reefer Madness. It's so much worse. These blokes who do that stuff…you can't imagine. It does horrible things to them."

"So why do they do it? If it's so bad?"

"Because for a few moments it's glorious. But what comes after…no, it's just not worth it."

Bella was quiet at my side for a while as she digested that.

"And Jasper says this guy James sells this stuff?"

"Yeah, so he says. Which is why I'm going with you tomorrow to St. Germain."

"Wait a minute," Bella pulled on my hand to stop me, "What do you mean, you're going with me?"

"Bella, I just told you what kind of rubbish this James bloke is involved with. Do you really think I'd let you go off to meet him alone?"

"But I just met you," she protested. "Why would you come with me?"

"Just…" I paused and pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. "Will you just let me do this? Please?"

Bella looked at me long and hard, her large dark eyes flickering all over my face.

"I'll just show up there anyway, Bella. You might as well let me come get you and walk you over."

After another moment of consideration she seemed to relent and we kept walking. That was good, because there was no way on earth I would ever let her walk in there without me.

"We're here," she said softly a few moments later. We stopped in front of her building. The street was dark here, as the nearest gas light was half way down the block.

"Right, then. What time are you and Alice going over there tomorrow?"

"Oh…I don't…we didn't discuss it before…" I couldn't see the exact shade of Bella's skin in the dark, but I would swear from her voice that she was blushing.

"Ah, yes... Alice got distracted before we could finalize plans," I chuckled. "Okay, why don't I come by to get you at nine? What apartment?"

"Um... twelve. Apartment twelve."

"Alright. Nine, then."

"Edward, you don't have to come with us tomorrow…"

I opened my mouth to protest but she raised one hand to cut me off, reaching out and laying her other hand on my forearm.

"But it's nice of you to do it anyway. I….well, thank you."

I don't know what happened next. I really don't. I swear I didn't plan it. I wasn't even thinking about it. Okay, that was a lie, I was thinking about it, but I was absolutely _not _planning on acting on it. But she had her hand on my arm, and she was looking up at me with those amazing brown eyes and her face was suddenly…finally…soft and relaxed, and I don't know. The next thing I knew I was leaning in and my lips were on hers and it was….heaven. And she didn't pull away. She gasped a little and stiffened, but then she just stood still, with my lips on hers. The second I realized what I'd done, I froze. I didn't try to deepen the kiss, no matter how much I wanted to, I just held still. Then I thought I felt her soften against me, ever so slightly. So I moved my lips a fraction, just the barest caress of my lips on hers.

Then I pulled away and opened my eyes cautiously to see what sort of damage I'd done. Bella was standing stock still, her face absolutely frozen, her expression stunned. Her eyes shot to mine, wide and slightly horrified.

"Oh, God," I muttered, "I am so sorry, Bella. I didn't mean to do that."

She blinked rapidly and inhaled sharply.

"I mean, I _did_ mean to do it…I _wanted_ to do it, but God…not _now_! I don't know what the hell I was thinking, just please…"

She raised her hand sharply to cut me off. "It's alright. I know things are…different here. I'm just not used to…."

"Bella, no! It's nothing like that! I wasn't expecting…oh, bloody hell!" The endless flow of rubbish from my mouth simply would not stop, "Look, I'm a total wanker. That was completely inappropriate. You're just….You're just so lovely and I feel like I already know you and I just…"

"Edward, it's okay. Really." She reached out again to place a reassuring hand on my arm, then her eyes dropped to her hand and she snatched it back away like she'd been burned.

I groaned in frustration.

"Look, can I still come get you tomorrow?" I closed my eyes and shook my head rapidly. "Never mind. Even if you hate me now, I'm still coming to get you tomorrow. I won't let you go alone."

"Edward?"

"Yes?"

"I don't hate you."

Then she turned without another word and let herself into the dark apartment building.

I stumbled back across the street and leaned against a darkened storefront, watching the windows of her building until I saw the lights flick on in one. Once I knew she was safely inside, I finally turned and headed home. That was a disaster of unparalleled proportions, but somehow, inexplicably, I felt like flying.

* * *

**A/N: We have some thanks and pimping to deal with this week, so bear with the long AN.**

** To yeahyeah143 on Edwardville on Live Journal for giving the story a shout out.**

** To TheGreenPuma (author of the brilliant Facebook Friends) who gave the story a lovely recc on her blog, diaryofaficfiend(dot)blogspot(dot)com**

** To feathers_mmmm (author of Edward Wallbanger…seriously, go read it) who gave the story a recc on the Twigasm podcast this week.**

** And an extra special thanks to Mr. spanglemaker, professional musician and jazz aficionado, who advises us on musicians, music selections, and all things jazz.**

** Lastly, both of us are involved in a very worthy effort, The Fandom Gives Back (.com), which is raising money for Alex's Lemonade Stand for Childhood Cancer. We are both offering up one-shots for auction, links below. If you're enjoying our writing, please consider bidding on one of us. Every penny goes to a really great cause.**

** spanglemaker's auction thread: http://thefandomgivesback(dot)proboards(dot)com/index(dot)cgi?board=fic&action=display&thread=51**

** justaskalice's auction thread: http://thefandomgivesback(dot)proboards(dot)com/index(dot)cgi?board=fic&action=display&thread=46**


	7. She Didn't Say Yes, She Didn't Say No

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

* * *

_When I'm with him, nothing else exists. We've only known each other for a few short weeks, but it's like we live in a secret bubble. I've never felt like this about anyone, and yesterday he told me that wishes we could spend every minute together. He told me no one else would ever love me like he does. I think he's right. I'm sorry I've been such a terrible pen pal lately, but I can't help but feel that I should explore this, Royce and me, while I can. One day you'll know what I mean._

*****

He kissed me. Out of nowhere, just leaned in and kissed me. It was chaste and sweet, and nothing like the way Jacob kissed me, like he was out to prove something. He didn't press his advantage, didn't even put his hands on me. Just a kiss. Wholly unexpected and confusing, but perfect in a way I hadn't anticipated.

Five minutes later, I was still leaning against the door to Alice's apartment, trying to calm my racing heart. Something happened to me when I was around Edward. I had felt it in the park that night, the hum of electricity, the buzzing attraction, but tonight it had changed, evolved. Every time we spoke, even when I was irritated or confused, that buzz remained.

I found myself torn between being annoyed about the way he affected me and intrigued by the way I obviously affected him. Remembering the stuttering mess he had turned into after our kiss and earlier at the club, I smiled to myself.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a horrible howling sound coming from the little balcony off of our living area. It wasn't big enough to hold more than a tiny chair, but it overlooked a small, open air park in the middle of the building. Alice told me when the weather was warm families would congregate below, while neighbors sat on their balconies and chatted across the way.

Making my way across the apartment, I peeked out the glass doors. The howling got louder. It seemed to be coming from just past our balcony. I pushed the door open a crack and poked my head outside into the night air.

Sitting on the railing of our neighbor's balcony was the ugliest cat I had ever seen. It was skinny and ragged looking, its tortoiseshell pattern patched and blotchy. Part of one ear was torn off, and it stared at me with a single wide yellow eye.

It gave another pitiful yowl and leapt across the gap to where I stood, door ajar. It cocked its head and blinked, licking its lips.

"Hey, buddy," I murmured, extending a hand out toward its face. It rubbed up against my hand, purring slightly. "Aren't you sweet?"

"Mreow?" It took a few tentative steps forward.

"Poor thing, out here in the cold all alone. Are you hungry?"

A low, rumbling purr rang out from its chest, and a twinge of pity surged through me. I knew what it was like to be alone. This cat was fending for itself. Maybe it could use a helping hand. I patted its head again and straightened up.

"Stay here, honey, I'll be right back."

I ducked into the kitchen and grabbed a piece of ham from the icebox. Dashing back to the balcony, I dropped the meat in front of it. It knocked against my hand a couple more times before grabbing the slice of ham in its mouth and jumping across to the next balcony.

I watched as the cat performed an impressive series of maneuvers until it landed on ground near the inside wall of the building. It slunk off into the shadows, still carrying its prize.

Something about that ragged cat tugged at me, and I was still thinking about it as I changed for bed. I wondered how many people walked past it as it prowled for scraps. Where did it sleep? How did it survive out there without anyone to look after it? It was stupid, really. It was only a cat.

After tossing and turning for a half hour, something clicked. I wasn't worried about the cat; I was worried about me. Worried that my first foray into the wide world would end disastrously. Worried that I would end up like that cat, ragged and worn, with no one but myself to rely on.

The trip to Paris was completely out of character for me. I should have spoken to my father and had him make arrangements to wire information to the French police and file a missing persons report. It would have been easy to ship my letters off to Alice and sit at home, insulated and safe, waiting for word. I had made the decision to come quickly and impulsively, and I had never looked back.

I guess I couldn't blame Alice and Edward for laughing, even though it was annoying how shocked they were when I told them my story. It _was_ absurd. My parents would be furious. I would be lucky if my father didn't show up to drag me back to Washington himself. And yet, something in me was elated about the changes I had made. I got on a train, I sailed across the ocean. I made it, all by myself. Harrowing? Certainly. But I made it, and that had to count for something.

My life in Seattle was predictable. A place for everything and everything in its place. The people who surrounded me lived lives of happily ordered banality. It was a life I was destined to live too, and I had no qualms about it, not really. But I had changed the order of things by running off the way I had, and I had no idea what the consequences would be. Today had been one monumental change after another. I got my hair cut for the first time in years and put on more makeup than I had ever worn. I went to two separate bars and got kicked out of one. I drank a glass of wine.

All those new experiences paled in comparison to how I had acted around Edward, however. In the span of a few short hours, we had introduced ourselves, taken a moonlit walk, held hands, and kissed. Even in the moment, when I was muddled and confused by the way things were going, I didn't resist. It didn't even occur to me to resist. I liked it, so much it scared me. I couldn't decide if I was betraying Jacob or not. To be honest, I didn't know how to define my relationship with him. We had dated in high school, and he took me out when I was home for school breaks, but we hadn't talked about it much. He never visited me at college or even called much when I was away, but he always treated us as a foregone conclusion. Edward was different. He was an unknown.

I liked the unknown, much to my surprise. For the time being, I would embrace it. If I was going to go to Hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.

*****

Alice didn't make it back until past noon the next day. She pranced in, barely noticing the glares I was sending her from the armchair in our living area.

"Good morning," she sang, wandering past me to her bedroom.

"It's not morning," I groused. "Where have you been? I was worried sick!"

"Where do you think I've been?" she laughed, pulling off her clothes as she walked to the bathroom. "I'm telling you, Bella, Jasper is… he's so _different_."

I snorted. "I completely agree, assuming different means rude, angry, and unhelpful."

She turned the shower on and grabbed a towel from her room. "He's none of those things, don't be silly. You're just seeing what he wants you to see. He's smart and articulate, and there's something swimming there, just beneath the surface, you know? He's just a little lost."

"Aren't you afraid that now that you've given him what he wants, you'll never see him again? I don't think he was interested in your personality, Alice."

She stuck her head out of the bathroom and scowled at me.

"Not that you don't have a lovely personality," I amended, rolling my eyes a little.

"Damn right," she called, slamming in the door. A couple of seconds later, she opened it a crack. "And for your information, Miss Know-it-all, Jasper is coming with us tonight. So there!" And she slammed the door again.

I sighed and stomped back to my room. I didn't like the thought of Jasper coming with us tonight, but after everything that Edward had told me about the situation we were likely walking into, his presence would feel like less of an annoyance. At the very least, he was kind of scary looking. I wondered how he got those scars.

Alice was at her worst that afternoon. When I told her Edward was coming to walk with us to St. Germain, she got a big smile on her face and started throwing scarves and skirts around her room. When I complained, she straightened up and dropped what she was holding into a pile on her bed.

"Don't think I've let you off the hook for not telling me about him," she said, hands on her hips. I was beginning to recognize that stance as the one she used when she was about to lay into me about something.

"There was nothing to tell," I muttered, wincing as she strode forward and grabbed a hairbrush.

"Sit," she commanded, pointing to the chair in front of her vanity. "I'm going to touch up your hair and you're going to tell me about Edward. All the details, including your walk home last night."

She looked a little threatening with a hairbrush in her hand, so I sighed and told her the whole story, starting with the night we had made eye contact in the park. As I spoke, I watched her deftly re-curl my hair with the brush, smoothing everything back into place.

"He just kissed you?" she said excitedly, thumping my shoulder with her brush. "What did you do?"

"What do you think I did?" I spun around in my chair and looked up at her with wide eyes. "I ran inside as fast as I could. Alice, I barely even know him!"

"Well, at least you'll see him again tonight," she sighed. She pulled a skirt and a silky white blouse from the pile on her bed and thrust them into my hands. "Get dressed; he'll be here in an hour."

I was almost to my room when I heard the door to the balcony rattle, followed by a quiet meow. Changing course, I dropped my clothes on the armchair in the living room and made my way to the balcony, where the cat from last night sat, staring at me expectantly.

I opened the door and crouched down, extending my hand.

"Mreow?" It rubbed against me, just like it had the night before. My heart broke a little. This animal was clearly starved for love and attention. I felt guilty for calling it an "it" in my head.

"You need a name, don't you?" I scratched its ears, and it started to purr. "Are you a boy or a girl?"

It straightened up and blinked, still purring quietly. One long snaggletooth stuck out from under its lip.

"Definitely a boy," I decided, patting his head again. He took a few tentative steps forward so that he was standing just inside the warm apartment.

"It's cold out there, isn't it?" I probably sounded completely crazy, sitting there conversing with a cat that had definitely seen better days, but I didn't care. I made a decision, scooping him up quickly and taking him to my room. What Alice didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Safely shut up in my room with my new clothes and my new cat, I started getting ready.

"Now, what should I call you?" I mused, slipping into the skirt and buttoning it around my waist. It was sleeker than the ones Alice had been giving me, and a little shorter. The fabric slid silkily over my bare legs, and a foreign feeling bubbled through my chest. I felt sexy. I snorted at the thought, pulling on my blouse and tucking it into my skirt.

"What about Rex?" I asked the cat, who was settled on my comforter, eyeing me warily. He sneezed.

"Okay, not Rex. Don't worry, I'll come up with something good. Are you hungry?"

"Bella? Who are you talking to?" Alice's voice filtered through my door. I put my finger to my lips and smiled at the cat. I slipped out of my room and quickly closed my door behind me.

"Just talking to myself," I said casually. "Is it time to go yet?"

She stared at me, eyebrows pulled together suspiciously. "We're waiting for Edward, remember?"

"Oh, of course." I breezed by her into the kitchen and filled a glass of water, grabbing another piece of ham from the icebox.

"Hungry?" Alice was still giving me that look, like she knew I was hiding something.

"Just a little," I lied, walking back to my room. I opened the door a tiny crack and pushed in, closing the door before she could see my cat.

"Rusty?" I tried, setting the glass on the floor and waving the piece of ham at the cat. He didn't budge.

"Okay, not Rusty," I sighed, and he jumped off the bed, grabbing the ham from my hand.

"Bella, get out here!" Alice called. "Stop eating, or whatever you're doing, and come let me make you up. Edward will be here in a few minutes, we don't have much time."

I gave the cat one more pat on the head and left him to enjoy his meal, sighing internally.

"Is the makeup really necessary?" I asked, watching as Alice arranged a line of pots on the kitchen table.

"Yes. Just a little bit of color on your lips and he'll be eating out of your hand. Trust me. Now pucker up."

When she was done, she handed me a small hand mirror.

"Why is it that every time you do this, I feel like I'm looking at a stranger in the mirror?" I asked, marveling at my red lips and pink cheeks.

A series of soft knocks came from the door, and Alice pushed me to answer it. "Trust me," she said again.

When I opened the door, Edward was looking down the hallway, shifting from foot to foot nervously. He whipped around and met my stare, his eyes widening slightly as he looked me over.

"Bella," he breathed. "You look…what I mean is…are you ready to go?" He stuffed his hands in his pocket and shuffled his feet again. I smiled a little at his stuttering and looked back at Alice.

"I think so. Alice, can you grab my coat?"

Edward grabbed the coat from Alice and helped me into it, just like he had last night at the club. It may have been my imagination, but his hands seemed to linger at my neck, resting just for a moment in my hair. He cleared his throat and offered me his arm.

"Is Jasper meeting us there?" I asked Alice, hooking my hand into the crook of Edward's arm. He looked a little startled at my question.

"He said he was planning on going early to get us a table," she said. "I'm sure he's already there. He's quite a music lover." She smiled mischievously. "He showed me his records last night. He has a huge… collection."

"I'm sure that's not all the freaky bugger showed you," Edward muttered, rolling his eyes. I slapped his arm and frowned, and he had the decency to look a little sheepish. "What? That bloke is scary."

True to Alice's word, Jasper was staked out at a little table, surrounded by the customary cloud of smoke I now associated with jazz. Alice slid into the chair right next to him and put a hand on his arm. He jolted upright, glaring at her for a second before his face relaxed. He wasn't quite smiling, but he looked happier than he had when we walked in.

"Has Chet played a set yet?" Edward asked, pulling out a chair for me and settling in as close as he could. His nearness messed with my head, and I noticed for the first time that he smelled fantastic—like paint and coffee and chocolate.

"He's taking a break. Probably back with James right now. I saw him lurking around with a few of his goons earlier." He looked down at Alice. "You should be careful when you approach him. James doesn't like people who dig into his business."

"We just want to ask him a few questions. I don't see what all the fuss is about," she huffed.

"Of course not." Jasper frowned. "I know you think you're street smart, but there are things out there that you don't ever want to get involved with. James is one of those things."

Alice's face hardened and she pulled away. "I've seen more than you think I have. I just choose not to let it ruin my life."

He was about to respond when the music started again. A tall man with sandy hair stepped up to the microphone and pulled up a trumpet. Without any kind of a lead in, he started playing, and that strange pulsing energy I had felt at Le Tabou pulled me in. Edward seemed to be affected by it too. He stared at the stage, spellbound by the music.

Something changed when the drummer jumped in. I started tapping my hand with the beat. Edward grabbed my hand and tucked our hands under the table.

"Nervous?" he whispered in my ear. His breath fogged my head and made me shiver slightly, despite the fact that the club was almost too warm.

"No, of course not," I snapped, trying to shrug off the way he made me feel. "The music just makes me want to move."

He smiled, and it lit up his face. One side of his mouth tugged up and his white teeth flashed in the dark. He stood up and held our hands up, bowing slightly.

"Will you dance with me, Miss Swan?"

"I don't know," I faltered, disarmed by his smile. "I'm not very coordinated. I'll probably step on you."

"Nonsense," he insisted. "It's all in the leading."

I sighed and looked over at Alice, who nodded vigorously. Sensing victory, Edward pulled me to my feet and led me to a tiny dance floor in the middle of the room.

"I don't know what I'm doing," I insisted.

"Then I'll just have to teach you." He put his hand on my hip and pulled my body snug against his own. "Put your hand on my shoulder, like this." He positioned my hand and then gently took the other. He held me like I was made of glass.

"Now follow me," he murmured, staring deeply into my eyes. I stumbled a little and looked down at my feet. "No, don't look at your feet." He let go of my hip and took my chin in his fingers, raising my face toward his own. "Look in my eyes. Trust, Bella. I won't let you fall."

The buzzing had grown, more intense than I had ever felt it. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. I felt lightheaded.

"Why were you at Le Tabou last night?" I blurted, desperate to fill the charged silence. "I thought you were a painter, not a musician."

He looked a little taken aback, but then he smiled again and shrugged. "I'm in the house band there. We play when they don't have anyone special coming in. I've always played piano. It was one of the things my mother insisted I learn."

He eyes became a little guarded when he spoke of his mother.

"Where is she now?" I asked tentatively.

"Still in England." His tone made it clear that the subject was closed.

"Oh." His whole body had tensed up. I cast around for a new topic. "So is painting a hobby then?"

"A hobby?" He looked mildly amused. "I suppose. I sell what I can, mostly tacky little tourist shots of the city. When you saw me in the park I was working on something more personal." He paused and stared over my head, apparently deep in thought. "Art is the only way I can get out the things that crowd my head. When I really get going, I get completely lost in the painting. Time stops, nothing else exists. It's a fantastic feeling."

"It must be wonderful," I said, admiring the way his face transformed when he described his art. "It sounds like how I used to feel when I wrote."

He looked down at me, a frown creasing his forehead. "Used to? You don't anymore?"

"It was childish," I said with a shrug. I was always a little uncomfortable talking about my old dreams. I had only really discussed it with Rose, and that was years ago. Even she had no idea that I still kept my little notebooks. "I thought I would be a famous writer, like F. Scott Fitzgerald or Mark Twain. Write the great American novel, you know? But I'm not talented enough for all that, so when I started college I decided to teach English instead. Maybe someday I'll teach the author who writes the book that changes the world."

"There's nothing childish about following your dreams," he said firmly. I was about to argue with him, but a large hand clapped on his shoulder and he dropped his arms in surprise.

"What the—" He turned to face the owner of the hand. "Emmett! What are you doing here?"

He stepped back and slipped an arm around my waist, revealing a tall, broad man with a wide smile and cheerful dimples.

"You!" I gasped. It was the man who had helped me at the train station when I first arrived.

Edward frowned deeply and looked between us. "Do you two know each other?" He sounded defensive. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was jealous.

"I don't think so," Emmett said. He looked a little confused, but his smile remained.

"You bought me a map at the train station a few days ago," I explained. His eyes lit up in recognition.

"I remember now! Did you find your friend?"

"I did, thank you. She's here with me tonight."

Edward was still staring at the two of us with a scowl upon his face. "Emmett, this is Bella Swan. She's the girl I was telling you about the other day. Bella, this is Emmett McCarty, he's a good friend of mine."

"Pleased to meet you," I stuttered, a little surprised that Edward had been talking about me.

"You're _that_ girl," Emmett mused, grinning wildly. "Well now, that's very interesting."

"Emmett," Edward growled. "Not that it isn't great to see you, but did you need something?"

"No, just wanted to stop by and say hello. I admit, I was hoping for an invite to Esme's tonight."

Edward sighed. "Of course. We need to speak with someone here, and I think we're going to stay to listen to the rest of Chet's next set, but you're welcome to come with us when we leave. Esme mentioned a party tonight, I'm sure it will be the usual madhouse."

"Excellent," Emmett chuckled. "Sorry to interrupt. I'll go enjoy the music and catch up with you later."

Edward pulled me back into his arms, holding me even closer than before. "I'm sorry about that," he said stiffly. "Emmett can be a little enthusiastic."

"Its fine," I reassured him. "He seems very nice."

Edward nodded curtly and stared over the top of my head. He clearly wasn't going to speak again, so I asked the question that was burning in my mind.

"Why were you talking about me? To Emmett, I mean?"

He started and looked down at me. He stared into my eyes, his green eyes smoldering and intense. I wondered what he saw when he stared at me like that.

"Bella, do you have any idea what you do to me when you're around?" He raised an eyebrow and when I shook my head, he sighed. "Look, I'm just going to say this, since whenever we talk I turn into a bloody raving lunatic anyway. You'll think I'm mad, but I don't care anymore."

"Edward? You're not making any sense."

He barked a short laugh. "Right, well that's the whole problem, isn't it? You…you fascinate me. You have since I saw you crying in the park that night."

"I wasn't crying the night I saw you," I protested. Then I felt the blood drain from my face. "Wait… were you there the night before?"

He nodded reluctantly. "I'm sorry, I swear I wasn't trying to spy on you or anything. You were so beautiful, and I couldn't look away. You've completely taken over the painting I was doing when I first saw you, and you're not even facing forward in it. Your _back_ inspired me more than the faces of all the women I've seen since I first came to Paris. I feel like we're supposed to know each other, like you're meant for me. And it sounds bloody stupid and you probably think I'm stalking you but I swear all I want is to know you better. To spend time with you."

He finished abruptly and bent slightly, getting very close to my face. "So that's it. You know how I feel. It's up to you now."

I opened my mouth to speak, but I had no idea how to respond to his impassioned speech. His face fell slightly, but he nodded and led me back to our table. Alice looked up from her conversation with Jasper.

"It's about time you got here. I was about to go over without you. Are you ready? Jasper says James is over by the bar."

Edward's hand gripped my own and I nodded. "Of course. Let's get this over with." Without waiting for Alice, I turned and started toward the bar. She jumped up to join me, and Jasper hung to the back of our tiny group.

"Which one is James?" I asked her when she reached me. She nodded over to the end of the bar where a scruffy man in a dark suit stood flanked by two huge men. I took a deep breath and walked over to him quickly.

"Excuse me." I used my most business-like tone, making eye contact with the man in the middle. "Are you James?"

His lips twitched and his eyes roved over me hungrily. I wanted to flinch back into Edward, but I stood my ground. My heart pounded, and I wondered what Rose had thought when she met this man. He didn't seem like the kind of person a gentleman like Royce would spend time with.

"That depends why you're asking, sweet cheeks," he rasped. He had a strong New York accent, harsher than the slight edge that Alice had. It made him sound like the mobsters in the movies. The men on either side of him laughed darkly, and I swear Edward made a growling sound, low and from the back of his throat.

"My name is Bella Swan," Edward's hand tightened slightly on mine, but I kept going, "and I'm looking for a friend of mine. I was told you may know where he is."

"A friend?" James asked. He looked at me skeptically. "I doubt we have mutual friends."

"His name is Royce."

A flicker of recognition flashed over his face, but then it was as if a mask slid over his features. He narrowed his eyes at me.

"I don't know any Royce, little girl. And if you know what's good for you, you'll stop asking questions."

Edward pushed in front of me, sandwiching himself between James and me.

"Don't threaten her," he snarled.

"I wasn't threatening," James said lowly. "Just informing _Bella Swan_ here that she shouldn't go poking her nose where it doesn't belong. Accidents happen."

Alice threw herself into the group. "And just who do you think you are?" she asked, arms crossed in front of her. "All we want to know is where this Royce character is. What's the big secret?"

The man on James' left moved forward, towering over tiny Alice. He grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly. Edward and Jasper both moved at the same time, but Jasper was faster. He pushed Alice back and twisted the man's wrist until he let go of her with a grunt. He grabbed the man's collar and shoved him back against the bar.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you how to treat a lady?" he growled. I thought it was a rather ironic question, especially considering the way he had treated Alice in the short time they had known each other, but since he was defending her, I didn't speak up.

A short, nervous man approached us, rubbing his hands together.

"Is everything all right, monsieur?" he asked James, his eyes sweeping from Edward's protective stance, to James' sneer, to Jasper's fists clenched around the tall man's collar.

"Everything's just fine," James said silkily. "Although I'm afraid our friends here have worn out their welcome." The small man's eyes grew a little bit wider and he nodded.

"I understand, Mr. LaFave. We don't want any trouble."

He turned to Jasper and Edward. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave. You're disturbing our customers and distracting them from the show."

Jasper took a step back, releasing the man and stepping in front of Alice. "Fine," he said shortly. "We were just leaving anyway." He nodded to Edward, who grabbed my arm and towed me toward the door. As we left, we passed the table where Emmett had settled to watch the show. Edward gave him a terse nod and he followed us out of the club.

"That was helpful," he muttered to me.

Alice started laughing, quietly at first and then getting louder.

"What is it with you and getting kicked out of bars?" she wheezed, slapping me lightly on the arm. Edward frowned.

"What is she talking about?" he demanded.

"Um…we sort of got kicked out of Les Trois Maillets last night."

Alice was still laughing a little, and Jasper was watching her with amusement.

"How did you manage that?" he asked, smiling for the first time.

"Bella knocked a guy out."

Emmett stopped in his tracks and stared at me, a huge smile on his face.

"You little con artist. I had you pegged for the helpless, damsel in distress type."

"It was an accident," I started, before I realized what he had said. "And excuse me, but I am _not_ a damsel in distress. I would have been just fine if you hadn't helped me."

"Bella is kind of extraordinary, Emmett," Edward said quietly. Emmett's smile got impossibly bigger, and he winked once.

"I had a feeling she might be." After another significant glance at Edward, he started walking again, falling in step next to me.

"So what's your story, Bella? What brings you to grand Paris?"

"I'm looking for my friend. She used to be Alice's roommate, and she disappeared in November. I was worried, so I came to help look for her."

And then, just like Alice and Edward had, Emmett laughed. His laughter was infectious, but I was getting so sick of everyone finding my story funny that I stayed stonily silent. Edward kept his chuckles mostly muffled, shooting me an apologetic glance.

"And you were looking for your friend by talking to that shady looking fellow at the bar? Who is she, a kingpin?"

I frowned again, irritated that he was still making light of everything. "My friend is Rosalie Hale. Before she moved out of Alice's apartment, she was seeing a man named Royce, and Royce and James do business together. Do you have a problem with that?"

He finally stopped laughing. "Rosalie Hale," he mused. "That name sounds familiar."

My heart leapt. "She's tall, with long blonde hair. Really beautiful. Oh! Alice, did you bring that photo?"

Alice dug into her handbag and came up with the photograph of Rose and I that I had shown around on the first day of my search. It was a little bent, but our faces were still clear as day.

"I've seen this girl," Emmett said immediately. "Sweet kid, a real knockout too. Kind of quiet, though. I met her at a party once, she was with Royce King."

Royce King. A last name. I almost wept. But something Emmett said bothered me.

"Quiet? Rose?"

"Yeah, I don't know that I heard her say more than five words the whole time I was there. I thought she was shy."

"That's odd," I said. "Rose always has an opinion about everything. She's never afraid to speak up, even around total strangers."

Emmett shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. She looked happy enough."

I filed his comment away for further thought, and then dived straight back in. "Do you know where Royce lives?"

"I don't know him very well," Emmett said, frowning a little. "I don't even know what exactly he _does_. I only met him briefly at a couple of parties thrown by some colleagues. I could ask around, but I don't know much except that he's English and he moved to Paris right after the war."

My face fell and I slowed down again. Without an address or a phone number, Royce's last name didn't really do me any good. Rose was just as lost as she was before the evening started.

"We'll find her," Edward whispered in my ear, hugging my shoulders snugly. "I promise."

A sudden burst of sound greeted us as we turned a corner, and I saw a three story house near the end of the street, lit up like a Christmas tree.

"It's been too long since I've been to one of Esme's shindigs," Emmett said fondly. He stuck his hands in his pockets and started whistling cheerily.

"Who's Esme?" I asked, shrinking from the light and sound that seemed to erupt from the house as we approached.

"Esme is a darling," Edward said fondly. A soft smile lit his face, and I felt a pang of jealousy. "I live with her, she's put me up since I left home. You'll love her. She throws these parties," he gestured toward the front door as we approached, "and invites artists and actors and musicians. She's a kind of modern day muse, I guess you could say."

"You live with this woman?" My voice got perceptively higher, and Edward quirked an eyebrow at me.

"Of course. She doesn't even charge me rent. It's a bargain." He grinned again and my stomach clenched. So much for being his inspiration. He was already living with a _muse_.

The door flew open and warm yellow light flooded the doorstep.

"Edward! You brought friends, que magnifique!" A slender woman in a wine colored dress hurried down to the walk and embraced Edward warmly. She was beautiful, but definitely older than him by at least five years, probably more. She kissed his cheek and smoothed his hair back lightly. Then she turned to face me, and her face brightened.

"And who is this?"

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	8. Professor Seagull

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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"Est-ce la fille?" Esme asked, arching her eyebrow at me.

Bella looked at me with confusion and…something else in her eyes. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought she looked angry. But I couldn't think of what could have made her angry, so I just smiled at her and hoped that she was prepared for the insanity that awaited her inside.

"Ah…yes. This is the girl," I answered, rubbing the back of my neck with my free hand. Let the teasing and the inappropriate displays of affection with strangers commence.

"Aha, I knew it!" Esme purred, "I told you that I saw a woman in your eyes and voilà! Here she is. You naughty boy, trying to hide her from us."

"I wasn't hiding her from you, Esme, I just didn't want to scare her off."

"Don't be absurd, Edward. What could possibly scare her off?" she asked, eyes wide and innocent. Then she turned and leaned back through the door, "Carlisle, allez! She is here!"

I groaned and rolled my eyes before I looked at Bella apologetically. Her eyebrows were still knit together and her face was stern as she watched Esme. Esme spun back to Bella, her face lit up with her radiant smile. Without warning, she reached out and seized Bella by the shoulders, pulling her in tight, and kissing both of her cheeks quickly.

"Vous êtes charmant, ma chère! You are charming. You will keep him on his toes. I can see it. Not one to be messed with, you are. Not like these silly French girls. Non!" Esme turned to me, "There is passion in this one, Edward."

And with that she released Bella, who looked positively stunned. I reached out and found her hand again, squeezing lightly in encouragement. But Esme wasn't quite done with her. She hung on tightly to Bella's other hand and began pulling her into the house behind her.

"Come, come, my darlings! Come inside. We have a few friends here already."

The house was alive with noise and smoke and music, voices coming from all sides. Absolutely nothing new about any of it. Bella stood stock still in the entry hall, eyes wide, looking around herself, baffled.

"You _live_ here?" she finally whispered to me. I nodded nervously.

"Emmett!" Esme said when she spotted him ambling through the door with the others. "Mon cher! It has been too long since you've come to see me. Why have you kept away, my love?"

Esme finally released Bella as she crossed to Emmett, leaning into his chest, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Emmett slipped one massive arm around her waist and leaned his cheek down to meet her.

"Esme, darlin'! I'm a busy man, but you know I'll always have time for you, my love."

I rolled my eyes, "Laying it on a little thick tonight, aren't you Em?"

"Hush," Emmett laughed. "You're just jealous that Auntie Esme loves me more than you!"

I laughed but didn't disagree. Esme adored Emmett. She lay a hand on his cheek, "Emmett, you know you are my petit chouchou."

"I hear we have some special guests?" Carlisle's quiet voice interrupted us.

"Oui, Carlisle, regardez! She is here, Edward's girl."

"Esme!"

"Bah, Edward! Carlisle just wants to meet the girl who has turned you inside out."

I felt like marching Bella right back out the door before they could humiliate me any further. I'd already completely laid my heart on the line tonight, telling Bella exactly how much I liked her, how much I wanted her. And I got nothing in return. The last thing I needed right now was Esme and Carlisle going on and on about how obsessed I was with her. She was going to run away in a panic at any moment. I tightened my grip on her hand instinctively.

I took a deep breath. "Carlisle, this is Bella Swan. Bella, this is Carlisle, my uncle."

Bella looked at me quickly, puzzled, then her face abruptly cleared and she smiled broadly as she reached forward to shake Carlisle's hand.

"Nice to meet you," she murmured. Carlisle beamed back at her, grasping her hand tightly between both of his to shake it.

"Delighted to meet you as well, my dear," Carlisle returned.

"Maintenant, who are the rest of your friends, Edward?" Esme asked, shifting slightly to curl her hands around Emmett's arm. Emmett just smiled down at her indulgently.

"Oh, um… Esme, Carlisle, this is Alice. She's Bella's roommate. And this is Jasper Whitlock. Alice, Jasper, my uncle Carlisle and Esme." I motioned at Alice and Jasper, who were hanging back behind Emmett for this whole exchange. Alice was grinning at Esme from ear to ear and practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation.

"Bienvenue! Welcome," Esme crooned, walking briskly towards them, arms opened wide. Alice looked as if she were restraining herself from leaping on Esme outright. Esme saved her the trouble, grasping Alice just the way she'd grasped Bella and pulling her in tightly to her, kissing her soundly on both cheeks. Esme had some trick to kissing women on the cheek, she managed to never leave a trace of lipstick behind. She discarded the trick entirely when kissing men on the cheek, purposefully leaving red imprints of her lips there like a brand. After embracing Alice, she leaned back, holding her at arms' length, examining her up and down.

"Mais oui, so chic! My dear, you are a vision."

"I've heard of you!" Alice squealed softly, "Ever since I came to Paris! It's so _great_ to finally meet you!"

Esme beamed, clearly pleased to pieces that her fame had preceded her. "I hope it was all good things that you heard!"

Alice rolled her eyes. "I'll say! You're, well, you're a legend!"

Esme threw her head back and laughed, long and throaty. "And who is your gentleman, ma petite Alice?"

"Oh, Jasper, come here!" Alice hooked Jasper's arm and yanked him to her side, "This is Esme Benoit._The_ Esme Benoit!"

Jasper looked baffled as to why he should know who she was. He just shrugged at Alice and tried to take a half step back, but Alice wouldn't let him budge. Esme turned the full force of her discerning gaze on Jasper. She said nothing for a long moment, she just looked him in the face. Jasper began to squirm under her penetrating gaze. I knew how he felt. She'd pinned me with that look plenty of times. It was her "you have no secrets from me" look.

Jasper raised his hands defensively in front of him. "Hey, Alice, since you're here all safe with your friends now, I think I'll just take off and…."

"Oh, mais non, Jasper," Esme purred, her heavily accented voice wrapping around his name like smoke. It came out more like "Jjjah-spehr". She reached out and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and pulled him in tightly to her side. "You must not flee yet, mon ami. The night has barely begun!"

I cleared my throat, needing to get a handle back on this evening. "Uh, Esme, we have some talking to do. Do you think we could chase everybody out of the parlor or the music room or something?"

"Oh, but of course! There are just some friends talking in the parlor. Let's shoo them out, shall we? Emmett, my love, can you and Carlisle get some wine for our guests?"

Then Esme headed for the parlor off to our right, never letting go of Jasper's arm. He shot Alice a slightly desperate, pleading glance over Esme's shoulder, but Alice only beamed back at him, delighted. Poor bastard. Esme had him now.

Bella and I brought up the rear. As we neared the door a rumpled, flushed couple exited in a hurry. I glanced down at Bella and she watched them go over her shoulder questioningly.

There was a man on the low table in the center of the room, standing on one foot, and flapping his arms wildly. Ah, bugger all, Julian was here and in rare form. Just what Bella did _not_ need to see the minute she walked into my house. A young couple sat perched on the edge of the low sofa facing the table watching Julian's performance with great interest. And when I thought things couldn't get worse, Julian began to caw…loudly. Bella froze just inside the room before turning her shocked face to me.

"Ah…Julian has, um, figured out how to translate the birds," I explained. "He's speaking crow." I knew how it sounded the second it left my lips. It was bad enough I knew this madman's name. I also just admitted to being quite familiar with his work. Bella blinked at me for a second before the corner of her mouth twitched up slightly and she turned her full attention back to Julian. Esme interceded just as he was beginning to hop up and down on one foot, causing the table to shake violently. Jasper and Alice were standing frozen in front of us, staring at Julian's display openmouthed.

"Julian, my pet!" she murmured, laying a hand on his arm. "There you are! I have been telling my friends Hippolyte and Reynaud all about your work and they are so very eager to meet you! Could I prevail upon you, my dear friend, to come and meet them?"

Julian, his face, nearly obscured by his enormously bushy salt and pepper beard and moustache, smiled broadly down at Esme. "I see!" he rasped. "Word of my groundbreaking work has infiltrated every branch of educated society! Esme, darling, please lead the way. My friends here won't mind, I'm sure?"

The young couple on the sofa shook their heads solemnly, as if they were at the feet of the master.

"D'accord," Esme smiled and reached up her hand to Julian as he scaled down from the table, before speaking to me over her shoulder. "Edward, tell your friends to make themselves at home, love."

Esme led an excited, rambling Julian out of the room and they were followed quickly by the young couple from the sofa. There was a long moment of stunned silence before Alice threw her head back and let out a loud guffaw. She dissolved into uncontrolled laughter that quickly became contagious. Bella started chuckling and trying to hide it with her hand and even Jasper cracked a crooked smile.

"What the hell was that, Edward?" Jasper rasped.

"That is my house. All the time," I shrugged.

"Oh, my…"Alice gasped, wiping at her eyes carefully, trying to dry her tears without messing up her makeup. "That was….so…._brilliant_! Edward, how could you not mention that Esme Benoit is your aunt?"

"How do you know who she is?"

Alice rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Edward! Everybody who's anybody in Parisian society knows Esme Benoit. And I do get around in society a bit, you know. Gosh, she's amazing!"

"She's pushy," Jasper growled.

"Oh, stop." Alice slapped his arm playfully. "You love her, you know it."

The door opened and Carlisle came in with Emmett on his heels. Carlisle had a tray of empty wine glasses and Emmett followed, carrying several bottles of champagne in his arms.

"Those blokes from Musée de l'Homme came tonight and decimated the wine supply, so I raided Esme's secret stash," Carlisle explained with a wink, nodding at Emmett's bottles.

"Ooh, perfect!" Alice said, hurrying to Emmett's side to relieve him of a couple of bottles. Carlisle popped the cork on one and poured a round of drinks for everyone. I took one from the tray and passed it to Bella. She peered at the glass and raised her eyebrows.

"Champagne?" she asked.

"Esme's one great weakness," I explained with a smile. Bella smiled back at me hesitantly over the rim of her glass and I felt my heart stutter a bit in my chest. Well, she may have had no response to my earlier admission, but she was still here, with me. That had to count for something. At any point she could have refused my help and gone home, but she hadn't done that. So I would pin my hopes on that and keep helping her for as long as she'd let me.

"Sit down, everyone," Carlisle was saying, motioning to the slightly shabby chairs and couches scattered across the room. Alice sat down promptly on the little couch vacated by Julian's audience and pulled Jasper down next to her. He settled in with a scowl, but leaned back and took a few deep gulps of his champagne. Emmett threw himself in a deep wingback chair that I remembered him favoring.

Esme reentered the room at that moment. "Bon soir! I see Carlisle has made sure you only have the best." She smiled as she waved one glittering hand heavy with rings at the bottles of champagne on the table. She crossed the room quickly and settled herself down on Jasper's other side, much to his surprise. Carlisle handed her a glass of champagne and she pursed her lips at him, blowing him a little kiss in return. Carlisle smiled back at her, one of the little secret smiles they often shared, before he returned to the table to open another bottle of champagne. I led Bella by the hand over to a little loveseat situated near Alice and Jasper's couch. She settled down next to me and took a few tentative sips of her champagne.

"Isn't it divine?" Alice said to her.

Bella sipped again and nodded vigorously. I took advantage of her distraction to slide my arm around her back, just barely touching her. She exhaled softly and then gently leaned into my side.

"So," she began speaking abruptly with a firmness in her voice that surprised me, "that didn't go so well tonight."

Alice huffed and drew her tiny frame upright. "What was the deal with those goons anyway? We just asked a little question and the next thing you know they're like a pack of snarling dogs!" Then her entire demeanor shifted as she turned flirtatiously to Jasper. "Nice hero moment, though, Jazz."

He scowled at the nickname, and chose to gloss over her compliment. "Seems like they weren't happy about us asking questions."

"But why?" Bella continued. "So he knows Royce. What's the big deal? Why all the secrecy?"

"Maybe he's just being protective of his business associate?" Emmett suggested.

"This guy James is really no good," I explained to Emmett, who had missed our conversation with Jasper at Le Tabou the night before. "He was there tonight to sell to Chet."

Emmett let out a low whistle through his teeth and smirked at Bella. "I gotta hand it to you, kid, you never cease to surprise me. First you get yourself kicked out of two separate bars, and then I find out you're hunting down drug dealers? What gives? You got a death wish or something?"

"I was there to take care of her," I growled, suddenly fiercely angry now that Emmett had laid it out like that. Not angry at him, but angry at myself for letting Bella walk into a situation that was so obviously unsafe.

"And you did!" Emmett said, placating me. "Just…be careful. Seems like your girl Rose got herself mixed up with a shifty character with Royce."

"But maybe Royce doesn't know about James and the drugs," Bella protested. "Rose always described him as a good person."

Alice snorted loudly in disbelief and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "Yeah, the kind of good person that hangs around seedy bars with drug dealers and makes nice girls vanish into thin air."

"Alice," Bella turned on her, eyes wide, "Rose adored him. I just can't believe Royce could be that kind of person. And you never even met him, so how do you know?"

"I didn't have to meet him to see how he operates, "Alice's eyes were narrowed, her usually animated face was set and hard. A whole new, surprisingly tough side of her was coming out. "Sweeps her right off her feet and hides her away from her friends. If he was on the level, she wouldn't be missing without a trace, that's all I'm saying."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to find him and see," Bella huffed in return.

"Well, I guess we will," Alice retorted.

"So," I interjected, to distract the two of them, "we have his last name. Now we need an address. Emmett, do you think you might know anyone who knows where he lives?"

Emmett shook his head. "Nah, like I said, we just showed up at a couple of the same parties. Somebody told me his name, that's all."

Jasper suddenly cleared his throat. "I could…ah, maybe ask around the wire service where I work. The records department. Maybe they could track down an address for you."

Alice's face lit up. "Oh, Jazz! That's just swell! You're a dreamboat."

Jasper shifted uncomfortably and looked away. "It might take a couple of days. Don't get too excited."

"Oh, quit it!" Alice cooed, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"Alright then," I said, wanting to get this part of the evening over with so I'd maybe have a shot at spending some time alone with Bella, "Jasper's going to see about an address for us?"

Bella nodded glumly, clearly unhappy that she was still potentially days away from tracking Rose down. I leaned in, tightening my arm around her and whispering in her ear, "Don't worry, love. It will be alright."

She turned her face to look at me, her large dark eyes a little watery. Then she reached up and put her hand on my cheek. "Thank you," she whispered. I held her gaze for a long moment. Maybe she didn't say anything to my confession tonight, but I was sure that it wasn't because she didn't feel anything. There was no denying…this. This thing that happened between us when we were together. Bella felt it too, I could tell. She gently dropped her hand away but continued to stare back into my eyes.

"Edward," Esme's voice from the couch broke me out of my entirely unwholesome thoughts, "why don't you show Bella around the house?"

I glanced to Esme. She was leaning back on the couch, cigarette held lazily between her fingers, eyes narrowed slightly as she smiled back and forth between Bella and me. I grinned back at her guiltily and rose, pulling Bella to her feet behind me, "Everybody enjoy yourselves. This party won't wrap up for hours."

Jasper made to stand up, like he was going to make his escape as well, but Esme snagged his arm and pinned him to the couch. "Oh, no, Monsieur Jasper, you must stay and tell me about your time in the war."

He swiveled to look at her, "How'd you know…?"

Esme reached out and trailed a finger down his scarred cheek, "We soldiers, we recognize each other, n'est-ce pas?"

Alice smirked at Esme before scrambling to her feet and snatching up Emmett's hand. "You guys have fun swapping war stories. Come on, big guy, show me around this funhouse!"

Emmett grinned broadly, unfolded himself from the chair and followed us out of the room. I quickly peeled off to the right, Bella trailing behind me.

I pointed out the various rooms on the ground floor as we passed. They were all full of people, drinking, playing music, arguing. Bella said nothing, just watched wide-eyed. We didn't encounter Julian again although I heard him cawing from the back of the house, but we encountered plenty of other colorful characters.

There was Jean Paul in the kitchen with a bunch of other unwashed revolutionary types who listened to him, enraptured, as he beat his fist on the counter and ranted about the Algerian situation. There was Marie in all her massive grey haired glory, who cornered us in the second floor sitting room, seizing my hand and imploring me to come to her studio and sit for her as soon as possible, as she was working on a new painting that desperately required the masculine energy of my sexual aura. I'd never been one to blush, but I did it then, before I mumbled an excuse and yanked Bella away after me. There was Felix and Laurent from Le Tabou who had set up in the library with a bloke I recognized from around town on the upright bass and another bloke named David from the States on French horn. They were playing some sort of free form bebop and if I hadn't been so desperate to be alone with Bella, I might have sat in with them.

"Um…" Bella's hesitant voice startled me because she'd been so quiet as I showed her around, "where is…um, your room?"

I looked to her quickly, surprised at the question. She took a big swig of her champagne to cover up her blush, but I saw it anyway. "I, ah…I have the garret, on the top floor. Do you…do you want to see it?"

I was fairly sure she would say no. She was not the kind of girl to follow me up to my room, alone, so soon after we had met. But I felt like I should ask her anyway. Bella shocked me, though, by actually considering it for a minute. Her eyes cut away and she chewed on her bottom lip, clearly torn. Bloody hell, what if she said yes? My mind spun with the possibilities: Bella, alone in my room, Bella sitting on my bed, Bella laying back under the skylight….Christ, I needed to stop thinking like that. That was absolutely not going to happen tonight, even if she did come upstairs.

Then she ducked her chin and shook her head a little. "It's probably not a good idea."

I exhaled the huge breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Yeah, probably not."

She looked up at me then, eyes bright. "Some other time, though?"

I smiled down at her, so wide I thought my face would crack. "You can count on it."

I put my hand on the small of her back and steered her out of the library and back into the wide hall that ran the length of the house. We nearly collided with Emmett, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, smiling lazily at a young bloke I didn't know dressed all in black. He has a slight build and pale, almost colorless hair. It made the thin moustache he was sporting nothing more than a shadow on his lip. And he was wearing a beret. Honestly? I didn't think anyone our age was still wearing those.

"Don't you see?" the man in black implored Emmett. "When Nietzsche says God is dead then the next logical step is that nothing matters, nothing means anything, man! It's all illusion! Society trying to bend us to their rules! No past, no future! Nothing and no one matters!"

Emmett smiled lazily and scoffed, "My friend, if you can honestly say that nothing and no one matters, then I say you just haven't met the right girl yet. Because let me tell you, there are plenty of women out there who can make you see God!"

The man in black huffed in exasperation and threw his hands in the air at Emmett's apparent complete ignorance, but I just shook my head and chuckled. I was about to chime in and defend Emmett's more Dionysian philosophy of life but Bella shocked me and spoke first.

"Yes, Nietzsche said God is dead," she said, sounding surprisingly confident, "but he also wrote about the Übermensch. He said we must give our existence value by living as if our life itself was a work of art!"

Emmett and I turned in unison to stare at Bella, mouths open.

"What?" she asked, clearly puzzled by our faces. "He did."

I held my hands up in front of me in defense, "I believe you. You want another drink?"

She nodded before the man in black turned his attention to her with a condescending sneer on his thin lips. His eyes raked over Bella, and I wanted to rip his head off for a moment, although he quickly seemed to lose interest in her as a woman in favor of taking her on as a debate rival.

"But he also praised the arrival of nihilism. He said it was mankind's greatest challenge!" he sneered.

"A challenge that we were meant to rise above!" Bella countered. And so they went on. I paused at the end of the hall and looked back at her, squared off against this irritating pretentious little twit. Anyone would think she'd feel intimidated, a girl like her, from a small town far away, thrown into a crazy situation like this. But no, not Bella. She had one hand on her hip as she calmly gestured with her other to make her point as she slowly took that wanker apart. Emmett remained leaning against the wall, watching their argument, a huge grin on his face, clearly delighted with Bella. She constantly amazed me. I didn't think I'd ever meet a woman who intrigued me more than she did for as long as I lived.

I passed back through the house with Bella's drink and caught sight of Alice sitting on the edge of the dining room table, under the chandelier, commanding by a small enraptured crowd as she related some story about Coco Chanel pitching a fit at a fashion show. I shook my head and smiled. It figures that she'd feel right at home in this madhouse. I was still chuckling over it when a voice I dreaded hearing broke through my thoughts.

"Eddie! Mon cher, Eddie!"

I turned and plastered on what I was sure was a thoroughly unconvincing polite smile.

"Victoire. Lovely to see you tonight. Now if you'll just excuse me, I have to…"

"I have been looking for you, Eddie! I came before, did Esme not tell you?"

"Esme? No…she, well…she must have forgotten," I bluffed pathetically. I hated being called Eddie and it sounded particularly grating in Victoire's hard, pinched accent.

Victoire narrowed her eyes, giving her otherwise lovely face the look of a sharp little rodent. "Oui. Forgot. Quelle farce!" she muttered.

"Look, Victoire, I have some friends here tonight and I really should be…."

"I thought we had fun, mon cher, but you never called," she cooed, sidling up to me. Before I knew it, she had me wedged into a corner between the wall and a long wooden table. Her auburn hair was twisted up on her head and the front of her red taffeta dress dipped low. She reached out a hand and ran her long glossy red nails down my arm softly. She leaned in close, her lips aiming for mine and I turned my head quickly so she only barely brushed my cheek.

I sighed heavily. I really should have dealt with this weeks ago instead of just avoiding her. She was so persistent, I never guessed that she'd still be…

"Excuse me." I had only enough time to register Bella's voice, to see her fingers tap Victoire on the shoulder, to see Victoire swivel to look at her, before Bella's hand swung out and made contact with Victoire's shocked face.

Victoire gasped and staggered back, her hand flying up to her cheek. I looked to Bella, stunned. Her wide eyes shot from Victoire to me. She let out a horrified gasp at what she'd done and clapped both hands over her mouth.

"Qui est cette salope?" Victoire snapped, glaring at me. I stiffened at her words.

"Don't call her that!" I snarled.

"Oh, God," Bella muttered through her fingers. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was…I didn't…"

Then she turned on her heel and fled out into the hall.

"Bella!"

I started after her but Victoire's hand clamped down on my upper arm.

"Edward, who—"

"She's my girlfriend!" I snapped, before I shook off Victoire's hand and raced out the door after her. There was no sign of her in the hall. Emmett was ambling down the hall towards me and he pointed straight ahead towards the front of the house, with a big grin on his face.

"Good luck!" he shouted after me.

I rounded the corner and half-stumbled down the stairs, finally catching her in the entry hall. She had her head down and her hand on the doorknob.

"Bella, wait!"

She stopped, kept her head down for a moment, and drew a deep breath before she turned to face me although her eyes wouldn't meet mine.

"I'm so sorry, Edward," she said softly, "I don't know what came over me. I don't know why I did that. I just saw her there with you and…"

"Thank you," I spat out, interrupting her. Her head shot up, her eyes confused.

"What?"

"Thank you. You saved me," I said, finally smiling at her. "That was Victoire. I went out with her once and she…well, she doesn't seem to want to take no for an answer. That was shaping up to be a really awkward conversation, but then you and your vicious right hook swept in and saved me. I'm quite sure Victoire will never want anything to do with me again. So, thank you."

Bella let out a nervous chuckle and twisted her hands together.

"You're really not angry?"

"No, I'm not angry. I'm delighted, impressed, a little afraid of you, you name it. I'm not even a little angry."

She sighed and dropped her head back, "This has been a really crazy day, maybe I'd better just go on home."

"Okay, let's go." It didn't escape my notice that she didn't even hesitate this time, she just smiled and turned and took my offered hand.

We walked in companionable silence for a few blocks. The weather was finally turning and the night was somewhat mild and clear, a hint of spring that was just around the corner. It was late enough that the streets were nearly empty and the moon was almost full. It was a glorious night, and Bella was here next to me, our joined hands swinging lightly between us, a tiny smile playing across her lips.

"So…" I finally said, to break the silence, "that's my house. I hope it wasn't too overwhelming for you."

"Oh, no. Not at all. Your aunt and uncle seem like lovely people."

"Yes, they are. I'm lucky to have them. But she's not actually my aunt."

Bella's brows drew together in confusion.

"But she's Carlisle's…"

"They're not married," I said with a smile. "Actually, I think Esme has a husband somewhere."

"She's married to someone _else_?"

"Well, it's not like he's _around_ at all. And it was years and years ago. Ancient history. Honestly, I don't know the whole story. She doesn't talk about it. But she and Carlisle are happy together, and isn't that all that really matters?"

Bella considered that for a moment then shrugged lightly.

"Everything here is just so…I mean, it's all just different than anything back home," Bella said.

"Is that bad?"

She looked up to me, the moonlight glinting off her eyes for a moment and making her pale skin glow, and she smiled, "No, not really. This place is crazy and it makes me do crazy things. Like that back there!" she rolled her eyes and waved her hand to indicate Victoire, "But I can't help but like it. I think I like the craziness."

I smiled down at her and squeezed her hand, "I like it, too."

She held my gaze for a minute before clearing her throat and looking forward.

"So," she said brightly, "I have a cat now."

Her non-sequitur threw me for a moment. "You have a cat? You've been in Paris for four days."

"I know! See? Crazy. But he sort of found me and he doesn't have anywhere else to go. And he's so sweet. I couldn't just ignore him."

"What's his name, this cat of yours?"

"He doesn't have one yet. Nothing seems quite right. What were your childhood pets' names?"

"Me? I didn't have any childhood pets."

"None?" she looked up at me, puzzled, "Not even a goldfish?"

I shook my head, "No, not one. My mother didn't…well, no. No pets."

"Well, if you _did_ have a pet, what would you have named it?"

"Hmmmm…Maybe Debussy."

"Debussy?"

"My favorite composer when I was young."

"You had a favorite composer when you were a kid?"

"Of course. It was Debussy. Clair de Lune was my favorite thing to play on the piano."

"Hmmm, Debussy," Bella murmured, trying it out. "I like it. Let's see if he does."

We were at Bella's building then, and I decided I'd walk her to the door of the apartment. That scene with Victoire had made me bold. Bella taking that swing at Victoire told me that she wanted me, too. What I wanted now was to get her alone and kiss her again, and this time I wouldn't botch it up like last night.

I followed her inside the building when she opened the front door. She hesitated for just a second, but then headed for the elevator and I followed. I pressed myself against the far side of the tiny cab, not wanting her to feel like I was expecting anything or trying to press an advantage. She shot me nervous sideways glances under her lashes but said nothing. At her floor, I lightly placed my hand on the small of her back and ushered her out ahead of me.

Alice's apartment was at the end of the hall. I silently trailed Bella up to the door as she kept her head bowed and fidgeted with her keys. She paused in front of it, fumbling to get the right one in the lock and I decided it was now or never.

"Bella?"

She turned and looked up at me expectantly. I stepped forward into her, placing my hands against the door on either side of her head. She gasped and flattened herself back against the door. But there was no outraged huff, no pushing me away, no indignant shriek. There was only Bella, pressed against the door, chin down, huge brown eyes on me, pink lips slightly parted. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling heavily, nearly brushing my torso with every movement.

I moved one hand from the door to her shoulder, then I slid my fingers along her warm neck, up under her hair. Unconsciously, her head tipped back slightly as I knotted my fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck. Her eyelids fluttered half closed as I dipped my face towards hers. I could feel the ghost of her breath across my lips. I leaned in slightly to close the tiny gap just as the night exploded with an ear-splitting shriek.

We both gasped and jumped away from each other. The shriek came again, from behind Bella, inside Alice's apartment, and this time it petered out into a low keening wail.

"What the bloody hell is that?" I muttered, my voice ragged.

Bella's face was horrified. "Debussy!"

"What?"

"My cat! It's Debussy!" She spun away from me and was desperately trying to jam her key into the lock.

I reached out and ran my hand down her arm, really hoping that she wasn't going to run away from what nearly happened. "Can he wait for just a moment? We were sort of in the middle of something just now."

The shriek came again, accompanied by another wail.

"He's going to wake the neighbors! I can't get Alice in trouble! She doesn't even know about him!" Suddenly she had the door open and she was inside and closing the door in my face as she muttered, "Goodnight, Edward."

"Wait," I put my hand out to stop the door. "Can I come see you tomorrow?"

She nodded frantically, looking back over her shoulder into the apartment as another wail rang out, this one impossibly louder.

"Yes, okay! Fine! I'll see you tomorrow!"

Then she slammed the door in my face. I groaned in frustration and raked my hands across my face. Bloody cat. I think I hated him already.

* * *

**A/N: The character of Julian in this chapter is not original. He is lovingly and reverently borrowed from Joseph Mitchell. Mitchell, a writer for the New Yorker, wrote an article in the early 50's about a real life New York eccentric named Joe Gould. The article was later included in his brilliant collection of writings from The New Yorker, Up In the Old Hotel. The chapter about Joe Gould in that book was titled Professor Seagull.**

**Translation note: ****"****Qui est cette salope****?" = "Who is this bitch?"**

**Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing. Big shout out this week to feathers_mmmm for her rec :) **

**As always, don't forget to visit the live journal page for photos, cast pics, music and more. (spanglemaker9(dot)livejournal(dot)com/)**

**A reminder, both of us are involved in a very worthy effort, The Fandom Gives Back ((dot)com), which is raising money for Alex's Lemonade Stand for Childhood Cancer. We are both offering up one-shots for auction, links below. If you're enjoying our writing, please consider bidding on one of us. Every penny goes to a really great cause. The Author's Auction will run during New Moon Week, November 15-20.  
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	9. Je Tremble En Voyant Ton Visage

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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**_Royce took me to a party last night. He bought me a new dress and took me to get my hair done. It was so extravagant, I almost refused. I've never been comfortable accepting expensive gifts, you know that, but he begged me and told me how beautiful I would look, and in the end I agreed. It was worth it to see the smile on his face. The party was a business function, so he was busy all night talking to people and "working the room" as he calls it. We barely got ten minutes to ourselves, and I confess I was a little lonely. Lately we've been talking about our future, and I mentioned that I hope he won't work so hard if we get married and start a family. I don't think I'm cut out to be a socialite. I miss you. All my love. _

*****

The blood was pounding in my ears as I slammed the door on Edward's face and scrambled toward my room. It was irrational for me to be angry at the cat for interrupting my moment with him. I shouldn't have been thinking about kissing him again anyway. That first kiss had been a mistake. It was a mistake to think about the way he made me feel when his fingers grazed the back of my arm, or wrapped around my hand, or the way my skin tingled at the slightest contact.

Debussy howled again and I jumped, startled. A series of crashing noises echoed from my room. I wrenched the door open and he shot past me into the apartment.

"What the heck are you doing?" I huffed, watching as he bounded in a circle around the living room before tearing off into Alice's bedroom. My eyes widened at the thought of cat hair all over Alice's silks and taffeta.

"Debussy, stop!" I yelled, running after him. If anything, my chase only made him crazier. He backed into a corner, arching his back and flattening back his ears. He looked absolutely terrified. I felt a stab of regret. He was an outside cat, he had probably never been closed inside before. I had scared him.

I squatted down and extended a hand toward him, making little clucking noises with my tongue.

"There, there," I crooned. "It's okay. Come on, Debussy. I won't hurt you."

He relaxed a little at the name, and I took it as a good sign.

"That's it, just come on over here." I patted the ground in front of me and he slunk forward. Just as I was about to grab him, he shot through my arms and under my skirt, racing back down the hall toward the living room. I scrambled to my feet and chased after him.

"Darn it!" I hissed, almost tripping on my skirts. I heard a series of bangs from the living room, and when I turned the corner I was almost afraid the room would be in ruins. Instead, I saw Debussy, clawing fruitlessly at the glass door that led to the balcony. He mewed pathetically and head butted the door again, rattling it on its hinges.

"Just hold on, I'll let you out." I don't know why I was still talking to him. At the very least, it was calming _me_ down a little bit. I finally reached the door and pulled it open. Debussy leapt out immediately and scampered across the window boxes that dotted the wall of the courtyard. Before I could see where he was headed, he had disappeared into the night.

Sighing heavily, I pulled the door shut to keep out the draft and looked around the room. Debussy had knocked over the little coffee table next to the door and rumpled the rug, but other than that the room looked intact. I straightened up and went back to my room, fearing the worst.

Considering the amount of noise Debussy was making when I got home, my room was relatively undamaged. My quilt was balled up in a nest near the foot of my bed, and the floor lamp was lying on its side. Thankfully, there didn't look to be any broken glass.

Debussy. What an odd name for a cat. I shook my head and picked up the lamp, setting it carefully upright. Edward was a mystery, that was for sure. I had been expecting something a little more standard when I asked him about pet names. Tiger, maybe, or Felix. What kind of person names a cat after a classical composer? A decidedly odd one, that's what kind.

The front door creaked open and I heard the clack of heels on the wood floors.

"Bella? Are you home?"

"In here, Alice," I called, tugging on my quilt to straighten it.

She peeked around the corner, twitching her nose a little. "I was hoping you'd still be out with Edward."

"No, he walked me home and said goodnight." I felt my face flush a little at the thought of his hands trapping me up against the door.

"He said goodnight, huh?" Alice teased, giggling a little and twitching her nose again. "Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays? That man was looking at you like he hadn't eaten for days and you were a steak dinner."

"Stop it," I blustered, still straightening the room surreptitiously. "He walked me home and we said goodnight. Oh!" I gasped. "He asked to see me tomorrow." In my rush to rescue Debussy I had simply told him yes and slammed the door in his face. He probably thought I was insane.

"That's good, isn't it?" Alice shot me a curious glance as she unpinned her hat and walked back into the hall. A few seconds later, I heard a loud "Achoo!"

"Bless you," I called. Another loud sneeze. "Bless you again!"

I started to undress and Alice came wandering back down the hall, wrapped in a silk robe. "Thanks," she muttered, rubbing her nose. "I hope I'm not getting sick. I never sneeze. Well, unless there's a cat around." She laughed lightly and swept into the kitchen, missing the way my face twisted and fell. How was I going to convince her to keep a cat she was allergic to? Maybe it was only a minor allergy. Of course, that was a moot point if Debussy never came back.

"Bella, can I ask you a favor?"

I pushed my dress down over my hips and jumped into my pajamas before jogging out to meet Alice in the kitchen. She was frowning at the empty cabinet.

"I guess I haven't been keeping up with the groceries," she said sheepishly. "I eat out a lot, and I'm not much of a cook. Do you think you can go to the market at Place Saint Medard tomorrow? It's not far away. We just need some fresh fruit and vegetables, and some bread, and maybe some—"

"Of course I can go to the market," I cut her off. "It'll be nice to do something normal after the last few weeks."

"Great! I'll give you directions in the morning, I'm beat. I can't believe I met Esme Benoit." She clapped her hands and giggled, looking a little bit like a child. "Can you believe that place? What a trip."

"I'm surprised you're home, actually," I admitted. "I figured you'd be out all night again."

"I have a photo shoot tomorrow," she sighed. "And I can't risk being late. I need to wake up early, and when I stay out too late I sleep like the dead. Anyway, I'm sure we'll be back; now that you're with Edward, we'll probably get invited to all of Esme's parties!"

"I'm not _with_ Edward," I insisted weakly. "I'm only going to be in Paris for a short time. Once I find Rose, we're going back home to Forks. He and I couldn't ever… well, we're friends."

Alice rolled her eyes and flicked the light switch, plunging us into darkness.

"Sure, kid. Whatever you say."

*****

True to her word, Alice was up early the next morning, brewing strong, black coffee and singing cheery French songs in the kitchen. I was starting to recognize the songs in her repertoire. I padded out of my room and poured a mug of coffee.

"Oh good, you're up," she said, grinning at me. "I was just thinking about the best way to get to the market, and I think I've figured it out. We'll leave out the shortcuts for now, I'll send you on the main roads until you're comfortable cutting through the alleys."

She had the map that Emmett bought me spread out on the table, and she pointed out the roads I would be taking. It seemed straightforward enough.

"And of course, you'll need money. I left enough for a few days on the table by the door. It's easier to go every day or so, then you don't have to worry about food spoiling or not buying enough."

I frowned. I hadn't thought much about it, but Alice had been paying for everything I needed since I arrived. "I don't know how I'm going to pay you back, Alice. I spent everything I had on my way here. I don't even know how I'm going to get Rosalie home."

"Don't worry about it." She waved a hand airily and scooped up her clutch purse, clacking her way toward the door. "I make enough to keep us afloat. And I've got plenty saved up. You run a few errands and help keep things clean, and we'll call it square. Now, don't get in too much trouble today. I'll be back this afternoon."

I spent the next hour studying the map. It was incredible how familiar everything looked after only a couple of days and a few expeditions out on my own. I found the route that I used to get the Square du Vert-Galant and the locations of the two bars we had gone to the night before. I laughed to myself as I remembered the last couple of days. No one from back in Forks would recognize me. What would they say when I got back?

I was about to get dressed when I heard the balcony door rattle. I couldn't help the wide smile that overtook my face. I hurried over and let Debussy in, scratching behind his ears and patting his head. He purred and weaved through my legs, rubbing his arched back against my shins.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, already halfway to the icebox. I felt less guilty about pilfering food for Debussy now that I would be taking care of the groceries. I could just get a little something extra for him when I was out shopping. I pulled out a plate and set a few scraps of meat on it and a little saucer of milk next to that. It seemed more official to see him eating in the kitchen, out in the open. He really was mine. I felt a tiny pang of guilt remember Alice's allergies, but I shook it off. I would keep everything clean. She wouldn't be able to object. Besides, he was such a sweet cat.

It didn't take me long to get ready. Now that I had resigned myself to the wardrobe that Alice was supplying me, I was starting to look forward to each new outfit. She really did have wonderful taste, and even the somewhat conservative clothing she brought home for me made me feel stylish and modern.

Leaving Debussy to enjoy the relative warmth of the apartment, I pulled on my coat and set off into the city. It was midmorning, and the sun was shining brightly despite the sharp breeze that whistled in my ears. Spring was coming. The trees that dotted the sidewalks were covered in tiny buds. Instead of the miserable grey pallor the city had when I arrived, everything seemed alive and green today.

The market was busy. It was set up in the middle of a normal street, wooden stalls crowded on either side of the cobbled street. People weaved in and out, talking in loud, garbled French and stopping to greet neighbors and friends. It reminded me a bit of the chaos at Edward's house the night before.

I don't know what kind of place I expected Edward to live in. Maybe a messy bachelor pad, or a tiny apartment like Alice's. I didn't know him well, but he seemed like a solitary person, so to see him surrounded by loud and rowdy people who obviously knew him—knew him and loved him—was a real shock.

I grinned down at a bushel of leafy greens as I remembered the look on his face when we walked into the parlor where his friend had been … performing. He was so embarrassed. I was beginning to look forward to the confused and flustered look on his face—the one he got whenever he was talking to me. He wasn't anything like the man I thought I saw in the park that night.

I passed the woman at the vegetable stall a few coins and moved on to the baguettes. If Edward became disoriented and nervous around me, I become unusually bold around him. He made me feel…possessive. When I saw him cornered by that woman, her lips rapidly approaching his own, I lost control. My mind didn't even register my actions until my hand was stinging faintly and Edward and his friend were gaping at me in shock. Luckily, Edward didn't seem at all upset. He was _grateful_.

It was completely improper, especially since I didn't even know enough about him to know the difference between a woman who was clearly a mother figure and a lover. I couldn't believe I had actually been jealous of Esme at first. She was …well, the most I could say at the moment was that Esme was enthusiastic. Her unreserved affection for everyone in her home, and especially for Edward and his friends, was overwhelming.

I spent a great deal of time sorting through wedges of cheese at a tiny dairy stand near the end of the row. The man there spoke a little English and offered me samples from the different flavors. I was getting used to the unrestrained way that the French addressed each other, sprinkling endearments throughout their conversations generously and indiscriminately.

The basket Alice had given me was nearly full by the time I had made an entire circuit of the market. I had fresh pasta and a handful of vegetables and fruits, along with a couple of pieces of fish and package of ham. My last stop was a flower stall, where I picked up a bright bouquet of local blooms. Yellow, orange, and red mixed together in a riot of color that I knew Alice would love.

Since it was such a beautiful day, I took my time walking back to the apartment, taking a meandering route that was much longer than the one I had taken to get to the market. Nothing in my basket would spoil, and it wasn't heavy, so I basked in the sun and walked slowly. I wandered through the residential neighborhoods for a while.

I passed a street musician, and my mind flashed back to Edward. I remembered the way he had eyed one group of young musicians as he showed me through Esme's home the night before. I almost suggested that he stay and join them, since he clearly wanted to, but I was too selfish. I wanted to hold on to the way he made me feel, just for a little while longer. I was so addled by the feeling that I asked about his room, for goodness sake. And then when he offered to take me there, I actually _considered _it. It was a complete contrast to the many times Jacob tried to cajole me into sneaking into his room with him. I refused every single time. One more out of character thing to add to my list.

I was somewhere near Alice's apartment when I first saw them. I was crossing the street and checking for any cars when two men caught my eye. They wore dark wool coats and fedoras, brims pulled low over their eyes. When they saw me looking at them, they picked up their pace, following me across the road. I sped up and changed direction.

I'm not sure why they made me uncomfortable. They weren't following me too closely, and I had no reason to be afraid, but I couldn't help but think of James' ugly grimace and the way he said my name. I shivered and ducked down a narrow street I was sure Alice had used on our trip to the Vogue offices a few days ago.

I was walking briskly now, almost skipping down the alley, cursing the heels that Alice had snuck into my room the night before. She had stolen my comfortable flats, and while I had no problem walking in heels, I couldn't run in them.

I turned up another street and kept heading in the general direction of Alice's building. I was a little turned around, but I was fairly certain that I was only a few streets away. When I glanced over my shoulder again, I saw that I was alone again. The alley I was walking down was deserted, but I was just grateful to see I had left the men behind.

I slowed down and caught my breath. When I got to the next street I glanced around, looking for some sort of a clue about where exactly I was. I thought I saw a window box that I recognized. Instead of the usual cluster of neat flowers, this box was filled with glass baubles that caught the sunlight and reflected it back onto the street in bright colors. I recognized it from my walks to the park. I was close. I could either take one more alley to cut up to Rue Jacob, or I could take the long way around and loop around to Saint Germain, which would take an extra five to ten minutes. I just wanted to be back at the apartment, and so I hurried forward into the alley which would take me there.

Exactly halfway between the street I had come from and Rue Jacob, I heard footsteps behind me. I sped up, but tripped over a loose cobblestone. My flowers went flying, but I managed to catch my basket before all my purchases when flying all over the alley floor.

I was on my knees in the half light, and I heard the footsteps steadily approaching me. When I opened my eyes and peered behind me, I saw a man in a dark coat and a fedora standing with his back to me, blocking the way I came.

"Stand up," a rough masculine voice said. I struggled to my feet and felt hands on my shoulders, yanking me to my feet and pushing me flat against the wall. My shopping basket lay abandoned where I fell.

"A pretty girl like you shouldn't go walking through alleys alone," the man sneered. I looked up at him and my heart stuttered. It was the man who had threatened Alice at Club St. Germain. We stood chest to chest, and his hands still gripped my shoulders.

"Get your hands off me," I said firmly, sounding more confident than I felt. "Leave now and I won't report this to the police."

The man gave me an amused smile. "What exactly are you going to tell them?" he sneered, his hands trailing down my arms. He leaned his head in close to my neck and inhaled deeply. I could feel his hot breath on my skin. It smelled faintly like garlic.

"I'm here to deliver a message," he growled, squeezing my hip and chuckling evilly. "Although there are a few more things I'd rather do." One meaty hand ghosted over my stomach. My heart hammered a staccato beat and I tried to focus on keeping my breathing steady. This was what my father had always warned me about, only it was happening in broad daylight. I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could, willing away the tears I could feel burning there.

"Stop asking questions about Royce," he whispered harshly in my ear. "And stay out of James LaFave's way. There are some questions better left unanswered, especially for wholesome, _good_ little girls." His lips brushed my ear, and I couldn't contain the whimper that escaped my lips.

"Might as well mix a little business with pleasure," he said, before forcing his lips against my own. I struggled against his grip, but only for a moment. The next moment he was flying backwards, grunting in surprise.

My eyes flew open and I gasped. Edward had the man by the throat against the other side of the alley. I only got a glimpse of his face, but he looked enraged.

"Bella, stay back." His terse command propelled me backwards, and I tripped a little again, this time over something more substantial. I looked down and saw the man who had been guarding the entrance to the alley. A small trickle of blood dripped from his nose, but he looked unconscious. A bouquet of crushed yellow flowers lay next to him. A scuffling sound made me tear my eyes away.

Edward was locked in some kind of a wrestling grapple with the man who had been threatening me. He took a punch straight to his jaw and wheeled back.

"Not… this… time," he grunted, twisting his arms and pushing the man to the ground. Edward had never struck me as a particularly muscular man, but he had his opponent pinned in one graceful move. He pulled back a fist and struck him across the face, grunting incomprehensibly.

I crept forward, forgetting the danger we were both still in. Edward's teeth were bared, and his dark eyebrows were knit together in ferocious concentration.

"Not while I'm here," he panted, fists connecting with the stranger's nose, then cheek, then eye. "I'll kill you, you son of a bitch."

"Edward," I whispered harshly, trying to break through his fury. He was totally focused on the man beneath him, now unconscious. Edward's fists moved mechanically, alternating punches on the man's face and body. This was not the blustering, bohemian artist who had walked me home and held my hand. He was possessed.

"Kate," he mumbled. "Katie's safe."

"Who's Kate? Edward, come on, snap out of it."

I walked forward and pulled on his shoulder. He tried to shrug me off, so when he pulled his fist back again I grabbed his wrist. His knuckles were bleeding and his eyes were blank and staring.

"NO," he growled, yanking away. "No, I won't let you."

"Okay, that's it," I snapped, wrenching him back with all my strength. We fell back, my arms locked around his neck. He struggled limply in my arms. "Come on, Edward. Enough now, you need to get with it."

"Had to keep her safe," he said vaguely, sitting up and flexing his fingers.

"I'm safe, Edward," I said firmly. "Now we need to get inside before someone finds us."

"Bella?" He looked up at me, eyes clearing slightly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm safe, Edward," I assured him. "But we have to get out of here." I picked up my basket and gathered the two destroyed bunches of flowers. Mine had been trampled during the struggle, but the yellow flowers by the first unconscious man looked only slightly worse for wear.

"I brought you flowers," Edward said, reaching out for my hand. I led him out of the alley and down the block. We were less than 100 feet from Alice's front door.

"They're beautiful," I answered softly, glancing down at the flowers in my hand again.

Once we were in the elevator, I took a good look at Edward. One eye was already swelling slightly, and there was blood smeared on the front of his rumpled white shirt. The knuckles of both his hands were bleeding, and when he raised a hand to push his slightly matted hair out of his eyes, he left a trail of blood on his cheek.

He followed me to my door meekly, his eyes retaining that slightly lost look they had taken on in the alley.

"Come inside. I'll clean you up." I pulled him into the apartment and pushed him onto the armchair, hurrying toward the bathroom. I hoped to God Alice had a first aid kit somewhere. Debussy was sitting in the tub, cleaning his face with dainty swipes of his paw. Seeing me, he jumped up and rubbed against me, purring.

"Hi honey," I said distractedly, opening the medicine cabinet and digging through the various perfumes and makeup containers until I found a small tin with bandages and disinfectant. I grabbed a washcloth, ran it under warm water, and ran back to the living room where Edward waited. Debussy trotted after me, stopping in the kitchen and watching me approach Edward warily.

I knelt in front of Edward and swiped the cloth across his face, lingering on the cut near his eyebrow and his slightly swollen lips.

"I told you, I'm not a damsel in distress," I joked shakily. "You didn't have to charge in there. What if you had gotten really hurt?" I took his right hand in my own and dabbed his cuts with disinfectant. He winced, but otherwise didn't react.

"It would have been worth it," he said lowly. His voice was gruff, and his fingers flexed a little around my own. I looked up and met his gaze, and my breath caught. He was staring at me with a stern frown on his face, eyebrows furrowed, jaw tensed. I straightened up a little, bringing our faces closer together.

"What if that man had been armed?" I breathed, not breaking eye contact. He had charged into the alley to save me, not even thinking about the danger he was putting himself in.

"It would have been worth it," he said again. I watched his Adam's apple bob and his lips part slightly. It was mesmerizing, although I wasn't sure why.

"It was a stupid thing to do. You can't just go charging into a dangerous situation without thinking. You'll end up doing something you regret." I inched closer to him under the pretext of inspecting his black eye. Pain flashed in his green eyes, and he nodded.

"I already have."

There was something about the sight of him, wounded and bleeding, in pain and totally vulnerable all because of me—because of what he had done for me—that broke my self-restraint. Before I could think about it, before I could tell myself that it was stupid and pointless and a bad idea, I leaned forward and kissed him.

For a shining moment, it was exactly how I remembered it. His lips were soft and yielding, and I closed my eyes and lost myself in the feel of him. Then he was pulling away, his eyes wide and his mouth working soundlessly. I was frozen to my spot, breathing heavily and trying to understand the sudden absence of his lips. Finally, he spoke.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

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**A/N: I know, what a terrible place to end it. I promise you'll get a full run down on what Edward is thinking in the next update. Hang in there! Thanks for your reviews, reading and rec'ing GwaRU this week. We're happy you guys seem to be so excited about the characters and where things are going. Obviously, things are picking up in the story, lots of intrigue coming your way :) A reminder that you can find pictures, art, music, and research on spanglemaker's livejournal site: http://spanglemaker9(dot)livejournal(dot)com/ You can also find a link in both our profiles. Thanks for reading, let us know what you think!**


	10. And Then She Stopped

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

* * *

I woke up exhausted and aroused, dreaming about Bella, naturally. Well, it was definitely an improvement over the dreams of a bombed out London.

The sun that managed to make its way through the grime on the skylight was hazy, but it made me squint nonetheless. I still felt strung out and edgy from last night, from the moment when my lips were almost on hers before that bloody cat started shrieking to wake the dead. I absently retrieved my cigarettes from the side of the bed and lit one as I replayed it in my head. But this time the cat stayed quiet, I kept leaning forward, we kissed with Bella pinned to the door. Well, while it was an enchanting fantasy, it wasn't helping me become less aroused, so I crawled out of bed and headed to the bathroom to wash up. The pipes that led to the garret were old and as a result the water was always icy, but this morning I was actually grateful for that.

I dressed and headed down the curving stairs to the kitchen, hoping I could get to the stove before Carlisle got there to desecrate the coffee. I was out of luck. He was already there, standing at the stove, humming happily, making a pot of his horrible coffee. Esme was there in her bright silk robe, leaning against the counter next to him and smoking. Emmett was there as well, slouched in a chair at the table, still in his rumpled clothes from last night, chatting happily with Esme and Carlisle.

"Well, good morning, sunshine!" Emmett boomed when he saw me.

"Late night, Em?" I smiled.

"Esme was gracious enough to let me crash in one of the spare bedrooms to save me a long drunk walk home," he explained, stretching his arms over his head lazily.

"How was your evening, Edward?" Carlisle asked.

I snorted. "Which part? The part where we got tossed out of St. Germaine? Or the part where Julian translated crow for Bella? Or the part where Victoire cornered me and tried to accost me? Or maybe the part where Bella slapped her?"

"She did not!" Emmett barked in disbelief.

"Oh, yes she did!"

"That little tiger! Damn, Edward, I_ love_ that girl! You should have seen her take that pretentious little prick to pieces last night. Smart as a whip and ruthless, but batting those big brown eyes at him the whole time. Bastard didn't know what hit him. It was a sight to behold," Emmett laughed, shaking his head.

"Edward, I do like that girl," Esme interjected.

"Yes, she seems absolutely lovely," Carlisle agreed.

I nodded morosely. "She _is _lovely."

"What is it, darling?" Esme asked, her brow furrowed. "Did you quarrel?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. I just…well, I sort of laid myself on the line last night. Told her exactly how I felt about her. And she didn't say anything. Not a word. I think I might have scared her off."

Emmett leaned forward on his elbows, "Did you tell her about the painting and watching her in the park and all that?"

I nodded glumly.

"Well, no wonder, Edward," Emmett scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You've known the girl, for what, two days? And then you lay all that on her? She probably thinks you're crazy!"

I dropped my head into my hands and groaned. "Thanks, Em. Just what I need to hear."

"Darling," Esme crooned, crossing the room and dropping into the chair next to me, rubbing my shoulder. "You must not get discouraged. This girl, this Bella, she is different. You will have to work hard to win her over."

I exhaled loudly and Esme took that as a reply.

"You'd rather she were easy?" she said, her voice sharper. "Victoire was easy and look what that got you. Edward, mon cher, for you, they are all easy. Mon dieu, with that face! It has always been easy for you. I think this Bella is just what you need. She will make you work, but is she not worth it?"

"I'll answer that for you," Emmett interjected. "Yes, she is. Don't screw this up, buddy!"

I dropped my hands away from my head and glared at him, "Not helping, Em. I already declared myself and she didn't so much as blink. Now what do I do?"

"You must woo her, my son," Esme murmured. "You have told her how you feel, non? Now you must _show_ her."

"Woo her?" I asked, scowling.

"Yeah, pretty boy," Emmett said. "I know ordinarily all you have to do is smile and crook your little finger for these girls, but the rest of us regular Joes have to work at it a little. You know, bring her some flowers, take her to dinner. It's called romance."

"Oui, Emmett is right," Esme said. "You have kissed her already, n'est-ce pas?"

"Esme! That's none of your business!" I snapped.

Emmett and Esme looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

"He has," Emmett drawled. "I'd wager the first night that he met her."

My guilty face must have given me away because Esme huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Edward," she said disapprovingly, "you can't just pounce on a girl like Bella."

"It wasn't….I didn't…it was an accident! I didn't mean to kiss her!"

Emmett threw his head back and laughed. "You two have this whole thing backwards. You need to take a step back and start over. Do it properly. Are you seeing her today?"

I nodded.

"So bring her some flowers, take her out, show her a good time. Think you can manage that, Romeo?"

I sneered at him, but he was right. I'd messed this thing up from the very start with Bella. Today I would do it right, romance her, like Esme said, win her over.

"Well, I for one, think Emmett's absolutely right," Carlisle finally spoke, bringing me a cup of coffee and setting it down in front of me. I took a sip and winced. "She's only been in Paris a few days, she's thousands of miles from home, all alone, her dear friend is missing, and now you've charged into her life in a most unconventional manner." He clapped me on the shoulder jovially, "Just help her, be there for her. And Esme's right, a little romance goes a long way."

"Alright, if you're all finished discussing my love life, I think I'm done here," I said.

Emmett beamed at me, "Go get her, tiger!"

I smirked at him and pushed off from the table. Romance, huh? Right, then. I had plans to make.

*

*

*

I took another look in the streaked little mirror over the sink. I really should have gotten that haircut before now. I looked half-wild, I realized, trying to flatten my hair a bit with my hand. It didn't really work, though and I was afraid I was only making it worse, so I left off my hair. At least the rest of me was presentable. My decent black pants, clean white shirt, I even stole a tie from Carlisle.

I slipped down the stairs from the garret as quietly as possible. The kitchen pep talk this morning was bad enough, even though they were right. But the last thing I needed now was for Esme to catch me on the way out and start clucking over me like a mother hen. But luck was on my side, the house was quiet and I managed to get out unseen.

I stopped at a flower seller on Rue St. Germain, but quickly got overwhelmed by the choices. Roses? Tulips? Those little purple ones? I had never brought a woman flowers before. Was there a standard? Were there rules? I had no idea. Finally I closed my eyes and exhaled and decided to just pick the ones that reminded me of Bella. I settled on some yellow ones. They seemed simple and delicate, but also no-nonsense, if flowers can be such a thing. Just like Bella.

Feeling a little self-conscious and obvious, freshly pressed and flowers in hand, I made my way along Boulevard St Germain and decided to cut along Rue des Cardinales to get over to Rue Jacob. It was less of a street really, and more of an alley, narrow and curving, heavily shadowed by the buildings rearing up on both sides. As I came around the curve to Rue de Furstemburg, I nearly collided with a thick, dark-haired man standing at the corner, blocking the way.

"Excusez-moi ," I murmured, making to step around him. He thrust one arm out to his side to block me.

"Arrêtez!" he snarled.

My eyes shot up to his face and I felt a flicker of recognition. I tried to place where I'd seen him as I puzzled out why he was blocking my way. His features fell into place in my head at the same moment that I heard a startled female voice around the corner ahead of me….Bella's voice. And this guy was in St. Germain with James last night.

My hand shot out and seized his wrist before I even had time to think about what to do. He hadn't expected me to do it, his startled face told me that much. I took advantage of his surprise and moved fast, twisting his wrist, wrenching his arm behind his back and turning his body half away from me in the process. I heard Bella cry out again and my adrenaline spiked. I rushed forward with everything I had in me, towards the wall on my left, propelling the man in front of me. His forehead hit the wall and made a muffled thud. I saw blood trickle down the side of his nose and he became dead weight, slumping to the ground in front of me. I dropped him into a motionless pile and sprinted around the corner.

The other one, the one who'd been with James last night, the one who'd put his hands on Alice, had Bella pinned to the wall. One meaty hand gripped her hip, the other had her by the back of the neck. As I rushed at them, he leaned in and crushed his lips on hers. Her face was twisted in disgust and she whimpered. That tiny sound from her broke me. A veil descended on me. I wasn't thinking, I wasn't feeling, I only knew I had to destroy that animal that dared to touch her.

My hands wrapped around him, wrenched him with all my strength and we were staggering across the alley. Away…away from her. He must not get to her. She must be safe.

He rounded on me and I charged. I felt myself collide with him, I felt his fist strike my temple, I felt the pain radiate through both hands as I struck out and made contact with him over and over. More pain through my jaw as my clenched teeth rattled, but I only rushed back at him, swinging hard. I didn't even know what I was hitting, I just attacked, reveling in the sounds of my fists impacting on his flesh, at the sight of the blood, of the damage I was doing. Safe, she must be safe. I couldn't protect Kate, that wouldn't happen again. I would never let that happen again.

I heard Bella's voice, far away and faint, calling my name, but I kept on, crushing him, destroying him. She will be safe.

There was a tugging and I staggered back, aware only dimly of Bella hanging around my neck, of Bella pulling me after her, out of the alley, leaving two broken bodies on the ground. The muffled silence of her apartment building seemed to roar in my ears as I stumbled after her, letting her pull me into her apartment and push me into a chair. I winced at the sting in my knuckles as she cleaned me up and I began to focus again.

I looked down at my ragged hands, the blood under my fingernails, the scrapes along my knuckles. I felt my face throbbing in several places, and my ribs on my right side. I could see it in my mind again now, that man from St. Germain on the ground in the alley as I pounded away at his still form, as I obliterated his face. I felt Bella flitting around me, dabbing at my wounds, examining my face, speaking softly to me. She was there. She'd seen me do that. She'd seen me turn into that animal, incapable of rational thought. Shame flooded through me. I could hardly bear to have her look at me, to touch me and care for me like this.

She was talking to me, I was responding, but I couldn't really follow the conversation. Any second now she'd take a good look at me, think back on what she'd seen me do, and back away in horror. She was chastising me gently, telling me I should have been more careful, that I might have done something I'd regret. I nearly laughed out loud.

"I already have," I muttered.

She leaned into me, examining my face. I dropped my eyes to my hands, unable to even look at her soft loveliness.

Then she kissed me. First I felt the indescribable warmth of her lips on mine, and then I felt the shock, the horror. How could she kiss me when she saw me like that? How could she bring herself to even touch me, filthy and bloody, nothing better than an animal?

I thrust her away from me.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

She froze, her dark eyes wide. I was still gripping her upper arms, holding her away from me, my dirty, bloody hands digging into the silky white fabric of her blouse. I released her instantly and she stumbled back a few steps, a slight blush suffusing her cheeks.

"I…I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me," she muttered, spinning to face away from me. She let out a short, strangled humorless laugh. "I seem to be saying that a lot these days, huh?"

Oh, hell, she was embarrassed. I'd humiliated her. That was not my intention at all. As bad as I felt, knowing how I made her feel made it infinitely worse.

"Bella, no…" I reached out a hand to her tentatively, but she ignored it.

"It's okay," she said, holding up a hand, "I just got a little carried away. That was overwhelming, I wasn't feeling myself."

"Bella, listen to me. Please?"

She half turned to look at me, her face apprehensive.

"It's not that I don't want you. I just…after that…after what I just did, how could you possibly want me?"

She paused, brow furrowed.

"Edward, you saved my life."

"I nearly killed those men. With my bare hands. If you hadn't stopped me, I would have."

"And they might have killed me."

Her words made me feel sick. Images of Kate flooded my mind without warning. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to steady myself.

"Who's Kate?"

My eyes shot open. How could she possibly know what I was thinking?

"You were saying her name out there. Who is she?"

I drew a deep breath, trying to anchor myself in the present, keeping my eyes on Bella's face. "She was just someone I knew in London, when I was younger."

"Is she still there in London?"

"Kate's dead." I hadn't meant to say it so bluntly and Bella flinched a little at the harsh pronouncement.

"Oh…I'm sorry."

I shrugged, "It was a long time ago."

She finally looked up and met my eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching up just a little. "I'm still sorry. Thank you for that…down there."

I snorted and rolled my eyes in disgust.

"Bella, I'm so sorry that you saw me like that…"

"Edward, stop. It's really okay."

I took another deep breath and dragged my hands through my hair in frustration, suddenly aware of my ruined clothes, the blood, the injuries. I laughed then, short and sharp. "This was not at all how I planned tonight to go."

"What did you plan?" Her voice was softer now, a little playful, the worst of the stress had passed.

I shook my head, "It doesn't matter. We just keep getting this messed up."

Bella shook her head, puzzled. "Pardon?"

So much for the romance, flowers and dinner and moonlit walks. All that stuff just didn't seem to be in the cards for Bella and me. So I would just do this my way. I took two large strides across her living room until I was standing in front of her. She looked up at me, eyes wide.

"Bella, I want to kiss you. For real. No mistakes, no bad timing."

She said nothing, but she gave me a tiny nod, her dark eyes never leaving mine.

I reached out and gripped her upper arms again, feeling her silky blouse under my finger tips, and took another step into her. Her lips fell open slightly as she gazed up at me. I slowly lowered my head, our eyes locked. I moved one hand up to cup her cheek, closed my eyes and pressed my lips to hers. It was warm and soft, everything I remembered and more because this time she was willing. I pressed gently, going slow, caressing her cheek with my thumb. She pressed back. It felt like time stood still for the long, perfect moment as our lips were joined.

I pulled away slightly, just enough to look at her. Her eyes were half closed, her plump pink lips slightly sheened. She looked back at me and then, in unison, we both moved forward again. This time there was heat. Heat where our lips met, heat as my hand slid back to grip her neck, heat as my arm slipped around her waist and pulled her against me, heat as she reached up and ran her fingers through my hair, heat as my tongue met hers.

It was deepening, I was tightening my grip on her waist, when we heard the key in the lock. Bella gasped and pulled back. I loosened my hold, but I didn't let her go completely, as we both turned to the door. Alice burst in, followed by a much more sedate Jasper.

Alice froze just inside the door, taking in the two of us, still in each other's arms. God only knows what we looked like.

"What the hell have you two been _doing_ to each other?" she exclaimed, one hand on her hip.

"Alice," Bella muttered, reaching a hand up to smooth her hair. "What on earth are you talking about?"

She took another step back from me and I let her go.

"You! And him! Look at the two of you! What happened?"

"Um, Bella," I said softly, "you have some….um, blood. Right there."

I reached out and wiped the smudge of blood off her cheek. "And your blouse…"

Bella finally glanced down at herself. The buttons of her blouse must have ripped free in the struggle downstairs. It was hanging open nearly to her waist, exposing a silky camisole underneath. She gasped and yanked the two edges together and I wished I'd noticed earlier that she was half-undressed through all of that.

"Edward, what the hell happened to you?" Jasper growled, squinting closely at me.

"Does this have anything to do with the gendarmes downstairs?" Alice asked.

"What?" I snapped.

"The gendarmes," Alice said, waving a hand at the door. "Apparently somebody beat the hell out of a couple of guys in Rue de Furstemburg…oh, my God…" Her eyes shot wide. "Was that you?"

"You beat up those guys, Edward?" Jasper asked.

"They had Bella," I growled, reaching out instinctively for her hand, "I came around the corner and one of them had her…" I closed my eyes and shook my head.

"Honey, are you okay?" Alice was instantly at Bella's side, cupping her face in her hands.

"Yes, I'm fine, they didn't hurt me," she said, "But, Alice, they were the guys from St. Germain. The one who grabbed me, he was the one that put his hands on you."

"What?" Jasper's low snarl filled the room.

"He told me to stop asking questions about Royce and to leave James alone."

"Son of a bitch!" Jasper shouted, his face enraged. I knew exactly how he felt.

"You didn't tell me he said that," I said to Bella, struggling to control the menace in my voice.

She looked away nervously, "Well, there wasn't exactly time, and then we got sort of…distracted."

"This is serious," I snapped, "Maybe we should talk to the gendarmes."

Jasper snorted dismissively. "What the hell do you think they'll do to help? And besides, didn't you just beat those two guys to a pulp downstairs? Maybe you should lay low."

"Jazz is right," Alice said, "They wouldn't even listen to me when I went to ask for help about Rose. They're useless."

"And besides, I don't want to get Royce in trouble," Bella chimed in. Alice snorted, but she pressed on. "If he doesn't know what sort of person James is, and then the police start poking around, it might cause trouble for him."

I started to object, but Bella cut me off, "James thinks he proved his point. He wanted to scare me, that's all. Until we find Royce and Rose, no police."

"Then you can't be alone," I said. "Neither of you can be."

"I agree," Jasper said, "You don't make a move alone, you hear, Alice?"

She shot him a little smile over her shoulder, but she nodded.

"I have to go change," Bella muttered, still holding her blouse closed. She pulled away from me and headed to her bedroom. As she neared her door, a dark streak shot out of the kitchen towards her.

Bella gasped his name, "Debussy!" at the exact same moment that Alice shrieked, "Is that a _cat??_"

Bella leaned down and scooped up the cat, who wriggled and fought to free himself, as Alice backed up against Jasper like the cat was possessed.

"Where the hell did that cat come from?" she demanded.

"Um, he was begging at the balcony door. I just couldn't say no. He was starving!" Bella stammered, her cheeks flushing slightly. The cat was still trying to squirm out of her grip. I felt bad for her, she was obviously attached to that ragged-looking creature and Alice was clearly going to have no part of it.

"Well, he can't stay here!" Alice barked. "I'm allergic. No wonder I've been sneezing like crazy!"

"Alice, he doesn't have anywhere else to go!"

"No way, kiddo! He doesn't stay here. Geez, Bella, are you sure that thing is even a cat? It looks horrible!"

"He's just a little beat up," she said defensively, trying to soothe the animal in her arms. Alice had a point. I'd never seen such an ugly cat in my life. It looked like parts of it were missing.

"What am I going to do with him?" Bella asked.

"I'll take him." The words were out of my mouth before I even knew what I said and I was sure I would live to regret them. But she seemed so distraught about the stupid cat, and I was becoming such a sucker for anything that made Bella happy.

Bella rounded on me, her face alight with happiness and I immediately decided that anything was worth it to get her to look at me like that. Besides, it's just a cat. Plenty of people had cats. How bad could it be?

"Really?" she breathed.

"Sure," I shrugged. "But you'll have to come over to my place and help get him settled in. I don't know anything about cats." I was beginning to see the genius of this plan.

Jasper snorted and rolled his eyes but I ignored him.

"Well, you'd better get on your way then, because that thing is going to make my head explode if he stays in here," Alice said, edging past us, trying to stay as far away from Bella and the cat as the tiny apartment allowed.

"Oh, sure," Bella said, jumping into action. "Edward, grab that basket over there. We can put him in there."

I retrieved the woven basket she motioned to and brought it to her. It had a hinged lid and I suppose she imagined the cat sitting cozily inside as we transported him across Paris, but the cat had other ideas. It took a good ten minutes of coaxing and cajoling and baiting with pieces of ham before she was finally able to trick the cat into the basket and slam the lid on its head. Almost immediately it began to wail, that same horrific sound it made last night, when it interrupted our goodnight kiss. Bella excused herself just for a moment to change her clothes and grab her coat.

"Is it dying?" Jasper asked, peering curiously at the basket. The basket jerked across the table in response and Jasper jumped back.

"Of course not," Bella snapped as she came back in the room, straightening her skirt. "He's just scared. Come on, Edward. The faster we get him there, the better."

I tried to talk to Jasper for a minute about the situation, the possibility that dangerous drug-dealing thugs were targeting our girls, but the wailing cat made conversation impossible, so I let Bella drag me out of the apartment.

When I imagined this evening earlier and compared it to where we were now, I nearly laughed out loud. On my way over to Bella's, flowers in hand, I'd imagined dinner in a café, a moonlit, romantic walk home along the Seine, a lingering kiss goodnight at her door. Instead the two of us were racing through the streets, rumpled, beaten and bloody, a screaming cat in a basket swinging between us as horrified pedestrians stopped to gawk. The gods must hate me.

Thankfully it wasn't far from Alice's apartment to Esme's house, and I was doubly grateful that the house was uncharacteristically quiet. I remembered Carlisle mentioning tickets to the theatre, so they must have been out. We slipped inside and I took Bella by the hand, leading her upstairs, through the dark house towards the back stairs to the garret and up to my room. She set the basket down on the floor as soon as she was inside and unhooked the latch. The cat exploded out of the basket and was across the room like a shot, disappearing behind some furniture, but at least he'd stopped that infernal shrieking. We both exhaled in relief.

"Um…I wanted to take you out to dinner tonight, but things went a little off track. Let me see if there's something to eat downstairs in the kitchen, at least. Will you be okay for a few minutes?"

"Of course," Bella said, "I'm just going to try and coax him out. Poor thing. He's so scared."

I rolled my eyes a little at that, because that cat did not look scared. Possessed by the devil, perhaps, but not scared. But I nodded in agreement and went to see what I could find to eat. There wasn't a lot, but I found a decent piece of cheese and a hunk of a sausage, and a baguette left over from Carlisle's shopping this morning. With a little more digging, I found a basket of strawberries that had somehow lasted a whole day uneaten in this house. On impulse, I snuck into Esme's stash and took a bottle of her champagne. Under the circumstances, I figured she'd approve.

When I got back up to the garret, Bella was curled up in the middle of the floor petting the cat, which was winding around her, purring and bumping its head against her hand affectionately. Okay, he didn't seem so bad now. Ugly as sin, but friendly enough. I crossed the room to them and was about to sit down and join them when the cat whirled on me with a hiss and shot out one paw, swiping me across the ankle.

"Bloody hell!" I shouted, feeling the sting of its claws across my skin. The cat bolted back across the room. I changed my mind. I hated that cat.

"Sorry!" Bella cried, jumping up to help me with the food I'd brought. "Debussy just needs to get used to you and he'll love you!"

Debussy. It seemed a positive sacrilege that the great composer was sharing his name with that horrible creature. I shot Bella a disbelieving look as she lowered herself back to the floor. She patted the ground next to her.

"Sit. If we're on the floor he might come back out."

Bella set about arranging the little haul of food I'd brought in front of her. She plucked a strawberry out of the basket and took a delicate bite out of it. I lost my train of thought for a moment, watching her lips curl around that strawberry, fixated on the juice staining her bottom lip. I shook my head to clear it and sat down next to her. I handed her one of the glasses I'd brought, figuring she wouldn't want to drink champagne out of my grimy, chipped mismatched highball glasses.

"Champagne again?" she asked, amused, while I struggled to pop the cork. Carlisle always made this look so easy.

"I figured we deserved it after today," I said, as I finally got it to go with a loud pop. I heard the cat hiss across the room.

"Oh, I completely forgot!" Bella said, starting to jump up, "we need to get some ice on your face!"

I snagged her wrist and pulled her back down beside me.

"Forget it. Come eat."

"But your eye…"

"It will be fine for a little while longer. This is what I want, what I've wanted all day, a little time alone with you. So this isn't quite what I pictured," I smiled, waving a hand at my shabby attic room, "At this point, I'll take it."

Bella relented and settled down again next to me, sipping her champagne. She'd changed into a little black sweater and a full skirt with white flowers on it. Coupled with her dark hair and eyes in the shadowy room, she looked dramatic and striking. She was smiling at me over the rim of her glass. I swallowed hard.

"This isn't so bad," she murmured.

I reached a tentative hand out to stroke her cheek. Things felt different between us after the kiss we'd shared, but I didn't want to make the mistake of assuming too much. She sighed and leaned her face against my hand a little. I smiled in return. Things were different.

"Right now, this is bloody brilliant," I said softly. I slid my hand around behind her neck and pulled her closer to me. This time there was no surprise or shock on her face. She simply smiled as my lips came down on hers.

* * *

**A/N: We'd like to say a huge thank you to the bidders who won our author auctions for The Fandom Gives Back fundraiser. Daisy3853 won an Edward POV of her choosing from justaskalice's story, Kissed the Girls and Made Them Cry, and ciao_bella27 and littlesecret84 won an outtake of spanglemaker9's story, Faking It. The Fandom Gives Back raised over $85,000 for children's cancer research. Thanks to everyone who participated!**


	11. Lush Life

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

* * *

_I often compare my life in Paris to my life in Forks. In some ways, I feel like I'm starting something here that's completely beyond anything I had back home. Royce's house is extravagant, although I'm used to it now. Aunt Helen would never have let us use his every day china except for the most important guests! Fancy dresses, jewelry and champagne are part of the everyday scenery. There's always another event, another party; it's exciting. Other times, though, I miss the simplicity of life in Washington. It's mostly little things: hanging the sheets out to dry on a rare sunny afternoon, going down to the ice cream parlor for a sundae after dinner, or sitting out at First Beach with you watching the sunset. Silly, I know. I'm happy here. _

*****

Waiting for Jasper to come up with the last piece of the puzzle was difficult. Every day I waited for Alice to get home, giving her the same anxious face when she opened the door. And every day she shook her head sadly and gave me a small smile.

"He'll get the address, Bella," she would say soothingly. "Jasper is very good at what he does."

He may have been good at his job, but he was also brusque and surly. I couldn't see the attraction, but Alice was completely smitten. He walked her home from work almost every day, often staying for dinner before disappearing with her for the evening. While Alice was talkative and optimistic, Jasper rarely spoke, and when he did his words were laced with skepticism. More than once I wondered what could have happened to him that leave him so disillusioned.

I was rarely alone, Edward saw to that. He walked with me to the market in the mornings and in the afternoons I'd accompany him to whatever quai he was painting at that day before heading home to make dinner. I would have argued, but with no job, no leads, and no cat to take care of, my days were fairly empty. Besides, watching Edward paint was fascinating.

One of the first things I discovered was that he made faces when he concentrated. He was completely unaware of it, which made it that much more endearing. He would purse his lips and frown, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he focused on his subject. When something was coming together, his whole face would lighten and relax. His eyebrows seemed to move independent of the rest of his face, waggling oddly as he filled his brush or measured a troublesome angle. Sometimes it took all I had not to giggle.

The oddest part about those afternoons with Edward was watching the way he interacted with his customers… his female customers in particular. This Edward was confident and smooth. He never stuttered, although once and a while I did catch him throwing me nervous glances as he bartered with the women who came to buy his art. The smiles he offered to those who bought something were breathtaking, of course, but they weren't the same smiles he gave me. The smile he reserved especially for me was warm and lingering, and often slightly cocky and knowing, as if he knew that the second he looked at me my heart started to pound.

While watching Edward was captivating, after the first day I started to notice the other passersby on the quais where he painted. Colorful characters surrounded us, jabbering in English, French, Italian and German. It sparked at my imagination, and their stories beckoned to me invitingly. I dug the worn composition notebook from the bottom of my suitcase and borrowed a pen from Alice, and the next day I began to fill pages with sketches and doodles. It was the first time I had written anything consistently in years.

In the evenings, Edward revealed a different part of himself. He opened up and laid himself bare for the customers who came to drink, smoke, and dance in the dark, smoky main room at Le Tabou. I sat at a tiny table right next to the stage within eyeshot of the stage and stared shamelessly during his sets. I didn't want to come at first, but Edward insisted, saying he wasn't comfortable with the thought of me sitting at home alone when Alice was out and he was busy at the club. After the first night, I never objected again. There was something graceful, almost feline, about the way he moved, and after every song his eyes would search out my own and stare for just a few seconds. It was romantic on a scale I hadn't even considered before, and he did it without saying a single word. Sometimes Emmett would come along and sit with me, and we would trade stories about our childhoods in the States, and Edward and Rosalie.

On nights when Edward didn't play at Le Tabou, he would beg me to visit him at Esme's. He'd give me a sidelong glance and a heartbreaking smile and say, "Debussy misses you. He won't even eat when you're not there. Please?"

He was always careful to couch it in terms that didn't include himself. "Debussy hasn't seen you for a few days," or, "Esme was asking about you, won't you come over for a visit?" After the day of the attack, he didn't mention his feelings for me again. He held my hand often, and it was rare that a visit with Edward didn't include a few searing kisses, but we seemed to have an unspoken agreement not to talk about it. That was fine with me, because I had no idea what I would say if he brought it up.

"_I'm starting to care about you a lot, but as soon as I find my friend I'm planning on traveling thousands of miles away and I'll probably never come back."_

That answer left a little to be desired.

"_There's a boy back home who thinks we'll get married some day, but I've never felt even a tenth of what I feel around you with him."_

That seemed overly dramatic, not to mention the fact that actually telling Edward about my feelings for him would make it all seem more real, somehow. With every day that passed, I felt myself grow more unsure about what my future held. I felt like I was on some kind of extra long vacation, separated from reality.

I had been in Paris for just under two weeks when Jasper finally came up with the information we needed. I was sitting with Edward in his garret, trying to coax Debussy out from behind Edward's tattered arm chair. The two of them hadn't bonded quite as quickly as I hoped they would. And by that I mean that Edward barely tolerated the cat, and Debussy took every opportunity to bite, growl, and hiss at Edward. I was sure that all they needed was some quality time together, so every time I came over I would pull Debussy out from whatever hidey hole he was wedged in and sit near Edward, swatting Debussy lightly when he growled.

"Just leave the bloody cat in peace," Edward begged. He squatted behind me and brushed my hair away from my neck. His hot breath raised goose bumps on my skin. "We'll all be much happier if the cat stays where he is." I felt his lips drag lightly under my ear, and his hands snuck up to my waist, pulling me lightly against his chest.

"You don't have to be so mean to him," I murmured, turning my head slightly so his lips touched my cheek. Our physical relationship confused me, but it was hard to resist the feelings that he evoked in me. I held myself in check, wanting him but not being sure how wise a feeling that was.

"We're mean to each other," he responded lightly, pulling away. "We share a mutual disrespect."

I opened my mouth to argue with him but stopped when I heard thundering footsteps on the stair. A few seconds later, Jasper, Alice, and Emmett burst into Edward's garret. Alice looked positively radiant, beaming from ear to ear. Emmett shot us his usual dimply grin, and even Jasper's customary scowl seemed softer than usual.

"He got it!" Alice squealed, running over to where I sat and lowering herself onto the floor. It was a sign of how excited she was that she didn't even flinch about sitting on Edward's dusty attic floor. "Royce's address, Jasper finally found it."

My face split into a grin and I looked up at Jasper. "Really? What are we waiting for? Let's go over there now and talk to him."

Jasper walked over to the little kitchen area and sat on a rickety wooden chair. "We have to be careful about how we approach this guy. I heard some funny things when I was trying to hunt him down. Then there's the little matter of how he ordered a couple of goons to attack you."

Edward grimaced and reached out for my hand. I let him take it, but looked at both of them with disbelief.

"We don't have any proof that Royce is connected with those men outside Alice's place. All we know is they work with James, who is somehow connected to Royce. And what kind of funny things?"

Emmett walked forward and joined Jasper at the table. "After we talked, I started asking around, just to see if I could dig anything up that would help Jasper."

Jasper pressed his lips in a thin line, and his scowl returned in full force. It struck me as an odd reaction to have to Emmett, who seemed to genuinely care about helping me find Rose.

"I couldn't find anyone who could tell me what exactly Royce does here in Paris," Emmett continued, unfazed by Jasper's less than friendly facial expressions. "I run in a pretty wide circle of businessmen, and I found a few guys who knew _of_ Royce King, but that's as far as I was able to get. Everyone got very tight lipped when I started pressing for details."

"I did find out more about our friend James LaFave," Jasper cut in. "It seems his drug trade is just a side business. His real moneymaker is blackmail. Apparently he's an expert at finding people and ferreting out dirty little secrets."

"Did you find out how he's connected to Royce?" I asked. James sounded like a nasty character, but I was holding out hope that Royce had legitimate reasons for associating with him. The alternative was that Rose had somehow fallen in with a criminal, and that was too terrifying to consider at the moment.

"No, but it's something I plan to ask when we call on him," Jasper growled.

Edward nodded curtly. "Royce has a lot to answer for," he agreed. "I think the three of us should be able to… persuade him to give us the information we're looking for."

"Men like him are all cowards at heart," Jasper said with a grim smile. Even Emmett cracked his knuckles and nodded solemnly.

"You're just going to charge in there and start throwing punches?" I asked, exasperated. "What if Rose is in serious trouble? He's not going to tell you anything if you barge in there like a herd of elephants! I'm sure if I could just talk to him—"

"You're not coming," Edward growled. His grip on my hand tightened. "I'm not about to let you walk into a potentially dangerous situation. You'll stay here with Alice and Esme. We can handle this."

"The hell she will!" Alice interrupted. "It's nice of you boys to help us out, and we're grateful, but Bella and I started this thing and we're going to finish it."

"We'll come right back after we talk to him," Edward said calmly. "If Rose is with him, we'll bring her with us. If not you girls are certainly free to come with us when we go to fetch her."

"I can't believe you expect us to sit around and wait while you have all the fun," Alice fumed. "We don't need to be babysat, and we're just as capable of asking questions as you are."

"You're not coming and that's final," Jasper said, turning the full force of his dark glare on her. She didn't even flinch. "Alice, what if something happened to you?"

"Nothing's going to happen," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "I've told you before, I can take care of myself. And Bella's won bar fights." Emmett coughed, almost like he was covering up a laugh.

Edward gave a disgusted little sigh and shook his head. "We're not talking about this anymore. It's late, so we'll go over tomorrow. We can all meet here around 4 o'clock tomorrow. Jasper, Emmett and I will go to Royce's address, and we'll come back after we speak with him. Agreed?"

Alice and I didn't say anything, but she gave me a meaningful look and a quick nod that none of the boys seemed to catch. She yawned widely and stretched her arms.

"Now that you've hijacked our search and rescue, Bella and I want to go home."

"We do?" I asked, bewildered. Usually Edward didn't walk me home until much later in the evening.

"Yes, we _do_." She widened her eyes and nodded again, slower this time.

"Um, okay. Edward, I'm going to go home with Alice."

"Jasper and I will walk you," he said promptly.

"There's two of us, we can walk ourselves home. I don't know why you can't just trust us."

"It has nothing to do with trust," he insisted. "It's dark and there could be more men waiting for you. We're coming with you."

My anger surged, and for the first time, Edward reminded me of Jacob. We had had a similar conversation right before I left for college for the first time.

"_I want you to promise me you won't go walking around campus on your own."_

"_I can take care of myself, Jacob. My parents trust me to be careful, why don't you?"_

"_It's not you I don't trust, it's everyone else."_

I had walked alone, at night no less, on many occasions throughout my three and a half years at Seattle, and not once had anything happened to me. Not that I broadcast that information to Jacob, but the fact that he didn't even give me the benefit of the doubt made me furious every time he brought it up. To hear the same argument from Edward, who was nothing like Jacob, irritated me to no end. Without thinking, I snapped out the retort I always wanted to give to him.

"I already have a father, Edward." I stood up and offered a hand to Alice. She hoisted herself up and adjusted her skirts. "He's back in Washington. I don't recall asking you to take over for him. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye Jasper," Alice said, waving at him with a wink. "I know we had plans, but Bella and I haven't really spent much time together over the last week. You understand."

I took one more quick glance at Edward and Jasper and then turned and hurried toward the stairs, holding in my laughter. They were gaping at us, frozen and apparently in shock. Good.

We made our way down through the house and burst onto the street. Once we were clear of the front stoop, we both started giggling.

"Did…you…see their _faces_?" Alice wheezed. "Edward looked like you could have knocked him over with a feather!"

"And Jasper," I laughed. "Did you see how wide his mouth was hanging open?"

"I think the only one who didn't look surprised was Emmett," Alice added, with an odd little half grin. She took a deep breath. "Jasper doesn't trust him. Thinks he's got some ulterior motive. I told him it's ridiculous, but he won't listen."

"Emmett?" I asked, shocked. "What kind of ulterior motive could he possibly have to help us find a lost girl?"

"Well, Rose is a stunner," Alice shrugged. "And she's got a tidy inheritance."

"That's awful," I said immediately. "Emmett is a wonderful friend, and a perfect gentleman. He's helping us because he cares. I've told him all about Rose, and back home. He's doing this out of the goodness of his heart."

"I agree with you," she responded. "But Jasper… he doesn't trust easily. He doesn't let people in. I think the only reason he and Edward get along as well as they do is because they're both trying to protect us."

I frowned, remembering how adamant both of them had been about keeping us out of Royce's way.

"We can't let them go over and confront Royce. They'll make a mess out of everything."

"Bella Swan, if you are suggesting that we go behind their backs and talk to Royce ourselves," Alice said, her face a mask of shock, "I completely agree with you." She grinned and I laughed, relieved we were in agreement.

"But we don't have the address Jasper found," I remembered with a start.

"Correction: _you_ don't have the address." Alice pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and waved it in front of me. "I copied it before we went over to Esme's when Jasper wasn't looking. I was afraid he'd go all macho on us. If they're really not going to let us come with them, we'll just have to beat them to it."

We walked up to the apartment, Alice leading the way. "I know exactly where this place is," she continued, flipping the light switch and discarding her purse on the table beside the door. "Besides, this situation clearly calls for a light touch. I doubt Edward and Jasper are capable of subtlety at this point."

"What if they're right?" I asked slowly. "What if Royce is involved in something dangerous? Is it really safe for us to go alone?"

"He lives in an upscale neighborhood, and we'll go in the middle of the afternoon. There'll be plenty of people around. I don't see what he could do to us under those circumstances."

We spent the rest of the evening planning. Alice decided it would be better to go straight from Royce's place to Esme's, so we would be meeting the boys with the encounter fresh in our mind. They would be furious, of course, but once we showed them what a little feminine ingenuity could accomplish they wouldn't have a choice but to agree that we were right.

Alice made me feel like I could do anything. She asked my opinion about everything and teased me about my bar fight moves as we came up with a game plan. I'd never done something so sneaky and disobedient before, but she made it feel so easy. The old Bella would have argued with Edward until it became clear he wasn't budging and then resigned herself to his decision. Paris Bella wasn't resigned to anything. I was fed up with being dragged around and told where to be and what to do. Something in me snapped as soon as Edward said I wasn't allowed to come. Alice wasn't going to listen. She wasn't going to let herself be bossed around… and neither was I.

*****

The next day was sunny and clear. Birds were singing and everything was budding and green. Paris was blooming in the warm March air, and it felt like a good omen as Alice and I set off for Royce's address that afternoon.

"Now remember, don't try to get his back up right away," I cautioned Alice, who was walking so quickly I had to jog to keep up. "You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar."

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled. "That's about right, the man's a big bug."

I stopped abruptly and grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop moving.

"We have a plan, Alice. Don't forget it. We're doing this without the boys because they were going to charge in there with accusations and threats. If you're going to do the same thing, then we may as well just let them do this."

She sighed heavily and nodded. "You're right, I know. I'll be good."

I arched an eyebrow at her skeptically.

"I promise," she huffed. "Can we go now?"

"Yes."

We had crossed the river, and the buildings looked older and more distinguished than the ones in Alice's neighborhood. The shops scattered along the way looked expensive and nearly empty. Alice stopped at one window and stared longingly at a dress on a mannequin. I had to tug her slightly to get her moving again, which she did, reluctantly.

"Once we find Rosalie, we'll go shopping for real," she sighed, marching ahead of me so she could navigate us. "That girl has exquisite taste. Not that I don't love scavenging the Vogue closet, but a girl cannot live on samples alone."

"Whatever you say, Alice," I laughed. I had grown accustomed to her need to dress me up, and I actually found I liked it a lot most days. It made me a little sad to think about going back to the sensible woolens and cotton standards of my wardrobe back home.

We finally reached an elegant white stone house with a bright red door and a gold knocker. It was nestled between its neighbors with an air of smug superiority, if such a thing was possible. It sat just a tad taller, looking slightly cleaner and statelier than the houses on its right and left. I wondered if it was my imagination.

Alice and I strode up to the front door arm in arm. Our goal was to present a united front, dazzling Royce with our "feminine charm." Alice's words, not mine. She insisted on crisp white gloves and makeup, though I resisted as long as I could. She settled for a layer of face powder and red lipstick, but not until I agreed to the ridiculous clutch purse I was carrying. I tucked it under my arm as Alice adjusted her hat and plastered on a bright smile.

She rapped her fist against the red painted door. A few moments passed, and when no one answered, she knocked again.

We waited, but no one came to the door. "Maybe he's not home," I whispered. "We could try back later."

"No," she said with a frown. "Later the boys will come. We need to do this now. If he's not home, maybe he has a maid or a butler who can tell us where he is."

She knocked again, and we finally heard a shuffling sound on the other side of the door. The door swung open and a tall, blonde man with ice blue eyes looked down at us. He was impeccably dressed in a clean white shirt and a black tie with crisply pressed black pants and shiny, patent leather dress shoes.

"Can I help you?" he asked, barely concealing his irritation. He spoke in the same cultured British accent that Edward did. He looked about the same age as Carlisle. I wondered if this was Royce's father, or maybe his uncle.

"We're looking for Mr. Royce King," Alice said with a seductive smile. "Do you know where he is?"

"Yes, that's me," he said curtly. "May I help you?"

My eyes widened in surprise. Rose had never told me Royce's age, but I had just assumed he was no more than a few years older than her. This man could easily be her father.

"My name is Bella Swan," I stuttered. "I'm looking for a friend of mine, and I think you might know where she is. Her name is Rosalie Hale."

His eyebrows shot up and he looked me over. "Rosalie Hale? I'm sorry, I don't know who you're referring to."

"I'm sure you do," I insisted, confused that he would deny even knowing her. "She wrote to me about you all the time."

"Ah, wait a moment," he mused. "Does she go by Rose? I took a young woman named Rose to a couple of parties last fall. She was tall and blonde, absolutely gorgeous."

"That's her!" Alice said immediately. I could tell she was chomping at the bit to start questioning him further, but I hoped she would take her time. The last thing we wanted to do was make him defensive all at once. "I think you spent quite a bit more time with her than just a few parties, though, didn't you?"

"And who are you?" Royce asked, taking a step forward and leaning casually against the door. Even slouched, he towered over Alice.

"Alice Brandon, Rose's roommate," Alice said promptly. "And she was seeing you almost constantly from about mid-September. So why don't you come clean and tell us where she is? We just want to talk to her. We're worried."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he sneered. "Rose Hale was a common tart. I met her at a club one night, and I showed her around for a weekend or so. She was…rather grateful."

He smirked, and my stomach clenched unpleasantly.

"Now wait just a minute—" I started.

"No, you wait, Miss Swan," Royce interrupted. "I know your type. You'll stand there in your provocative skirts and tight blouses while taking the moral high ground." He leered unpleasantly, and I took an unsteady step back. "Your friend Rose knew exactly what she was getting into. She was a small town girl away from home for the first time, and she was letting her hair down. I see it all the time. After she spent the weekend with me, she moved on to the next wealthy businessman she found."

"Rose wouldn't do something like that, and she wouldn't lie to me," I insisted, squaring my chin and meeting his gaze. "She told me all about your relationship. She said you were talking about marriage."

He let out one short, harsh guffaw. "Marriage? With that whore?"

"How _dare_ you?" I sputtered, stepping up to go toe to toe with him. Alice followed me, gripping onto my arm strongly, anchoring me.

"I bet you're just like your friend," he said lowly, lifting a hand and grabbing a lock of my hair. I flinched away, but he held tight. "New to the city, just off the boat probably. I wouldn't mind taking you into my bed for a few evenings."

"She's not available. She's got a boyfriend and he's huge, and he has a temper," Alice snapped, pulling me backwards. Royce released my hair, but stepped forward as we retreated. "And don't get me started on mine. They'll tear you apart when they hear what you've said to us."

"Will they?" Royce's nostrils flared and he straightened up again. "Are you referring to the scrawny piano player from Le Tabou and that nosy reporter from the Associated Press? I understand you also spend a good deal of time with an acquaintance of mine, a Mr. McCarty?" I couldn't control the gasp of surprise that left my throat, and he smiled knowingly.

"Are you enjoying your time on the Rue de Seine, Miss Swan?" he asked silkily with another step forward. "I must say, I'm a little concerned… two young women living alone, in a building that's practically unsecured. So far from your families too; that makes you easy prey, you know. Why, I can't imagine it would take much creativity for any lowlife to break into a place like that. I understand there's been a rash of muggings in the area."

My throat tightened. "What have you done to Rose?"

"Nothing she didn't beg me for," he said with a grin. Even in the bright afternoon sun, he looked predatory. I couldn't see a trace of the gentleman Rose had described, despite the fine clothes and perfectly distinguished accent.

"I think we'd better go, Bella," Alice said in a low, harsh voice.

I started to protest, but she had my arm in an iron grip, and we were back to the sidewalk before I could dig in my heels.

"It was a pleasure meeting you ladies," Royce called, drawing out the word 'pleasure.' "I do hope we run into each other soon."

"We can't just leave," I said, tripping over my feet as Alice dragged me up the street.

"Yes, we can," she said firmly.

"We were just getting started! He was finally telling us something."

"He was also threatening us, and not so subtly either. We were about two seconds from being pulled into that house, and then God knows what would have happened."

"I think you're overreacting," I huffed. "Sure, he was scary, but he couldn't have pulled both of us in without risking creating a scene. We were perfectly safe."

"You've got a lot to learn about safety, kid," she muttered, still towing me strongly. "There was nobody on that street, which means he could have forced us inside without anyone seeing it happen. We don't know who was in that house with him. And he basically admitted to being behind those thugs who attacked you outside our apartment."

My heart started pounding as her words registered. "But… but what does this mean for Rose? Do you think he attacked her? What if she's hurt somewhere? What if—"

I couldn't bring myself to finish the statement. If Royce was capable of the things it seemed like he was capable of, then Rose could be anywhere. She could be dead. At the very least she was wrapped up with drug dealers and blackmailers.

"We have to tell the boys about this," Alice sighed, turning up the road that led to Esme's house. We had practically run through the streets, and the fifteen minute walk had barely taken us ten. "They're not going to be happy."

I groaned, thinking about what Edward would do when he found out that Royce had not only threatened me, but had touched me. We hadn't really gone into details over his break with reality in the alley, but I was afraid of what would happen if he thought I was in danger. I didn't want him to go and attack Royce, who seemed well connected and could certainly get Edward thrown in jail.

"Do you think they're going to yell?" I asked, slowing down and pulling my arm from Alice's hand.

"No question," she laughed. "But don't worry. We'll just have to recruit Esme to act as a shield. She has some weird mind powers over Edward, and she scares the hell out of Jasper. Emmett won't yell, he'll just be worried."

We walked in the front door and wandered into the kitchen. Esme lounged in a kitchen chair with a book in one hand and a glass of wine in front of her.

"Mes chères! Bonjour, ça va?"

"Esme! Just the woman we were looking for," Alice said conspiratorially. "We need your help. Do you think you can work your magic on our men?"

Her eyes got wide and she leaned forward, nudging two chairs out from the table with her foot. "Absolument. Tell me all about it."

* * *

**A/N: Hm...now what? Thanks for everyone who continues to read, review, and rec this story. We're totally overwhelmed by all the love! Don't forget to check the livejournal site for updates: http://spanglemaker9(dot)livejournal(dot)com/**


	12. Eyes in the Heat

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

* * *

4:15.

Checking the clock again confirmed it. It was a quarter past four and there was no sign of Bella and Alice.

I turned on my heel and paced back across the room again, trying not to dwell on the tightening fist of anxiety in my chest. I couldn't just sit here and wait. I needed to get out there, race to her place, find out where she was, make sure she was safe.

"Damn, Edward, sit down already," Emmett sighed.

"You're making me antsy with the pacing," Jasper growled from where he sat straddling my kitchen chair backwards.

I shot him a murderous glare. "I'm sorry if my girlfriend going missing has got me a little edgy," I snapped sarcastically.

He glared back at me. "They're not missing. They're a few minutes late. Christ, Alice probably saw a damned pair of shoes she couldn't live without on the way over."

I was about to lay into him about Bella's reliability and punctuality when the sound of many footsteps tapping up the wooden stairs yanked my head to the door.

"Bonjour, mes amis," Esme trilled as she sailed through the door. I was momentarily dejected until I saw Alice and Bella slipping quietly in the door behind her. I was so relieved to see Bella that I almost didn't notice how uncharacteristically quiet they were. Almost.

I crossed the small room in three long strides, seizing Bella's hands in mine.

"Where have you been? I was worried sick."

Bella's eyes got wider and shot to Alice. A brief silent communication passed between them, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Something was definitely afoot.

"Are the mademoiselles late, Edward?" Esme asked lightly. "It's my fault. Je suis désolée. They found me in the kitchen and I simply couldn't let them go. N'est-ce pas?"

"We just…have someplace to be. I was worried, that's all," I stammered. "We should get going, girls."

"Ah…yeah…about that…" Alice said. The tone of her voice caused all three pairs of male eyes in the room to swivel in her direction. I had a bad feeling about what she was going to say. She and Bella looked guilty as sin and Esme…well, she was clearly covering for them.

"What have you been up to, Alice?" Jasper growled lowly across the room.

"So," she began brightly, fidgeting with the button on her glove to avoid looking at Jasper, "we have some good news and bad news. The good news is that those goons who attacked Bella in the alley weren't sent by that drug-dealing creep, James."

No one said anything. We all just stared expectantly at Alice. All except Bella, who suddenly found the clasp on her handbag fascinating.

"What's the bad news?" Emmett finally broke the silence.

"Well, it turns out it was Royce who sent them."

Bella released my hands and took a nearly imperceptible step back away from me. I processed Alice's words for a moment, trying to sort out how she would know this.

"How'd you find that out, Alice?" Jasper asked, his voice tight with anger.

Alice inhaled deeply before looking up at him. "Bella and I paid him a visit earlier."

The room was silent for a moment before Jasper and Emmett surged to their feet in unison and stormed towards us. I rounded on Bella.

"You went on your _own_?"

She stared up at me, eyes wide, and nodded.

"Are you crazy?" Jasper growled.

"You could have been bloody killed!" I shouted.

"Girls, what the hell were you thinking?" Emmett moaned. The room felt ready to explode with our combined anger.

"Boys! Boys!" Esme's honeyed voice cut through the chaos of the room as she threw up a hand to silence us. We all shut up on the spot, because that's what Esme could make you do. "This was how you were going to talk to this man? Is it any wonder that the girls didn't want you there?"

"We knew you boys would bust in there and make a big scene," Alice piped up. "We figured we could talk to him calmly and maybe he'd be more cooperative."

"And?" Jasper snapped.

Alice's face twisted. "Well, we found out some stuff, but it didn't go so well."

"What happened?" I pushed. "Tell us everything, from the beginning."

"Just stay calm, Edward," Bella finally spoke. She stepped forward and laid her little hand on my chest. I reached up and wrapped my hand around hers, grateful for her touch, but anxious about why she needed to reassure me like that.

"Well, first the louse tried to tell us he didn't even know her!" Alice began, perching her fists on her hips indignantly. "Can you believe that? So then Bella and I call him out on it, tell him Rose talked about him in her letters and that I was her roommate and knew all about him. Then the lowlife admits he knew her, but only a little. And then he said…" Alice trailed off, her eyes shut, her jaw clenched in anger.

"What did he say?" I prompted.

"He said…he called her a whore," Bella finished Alice's sentence, the words nearly choking her.

"He what?" Emmett snapped.

Esme made a disgusted and unladylike snort of displeasure.

Bella cleared her throat and continued, "He said she was just looking for rich businessmen. He said he showed her around and she…showed her gratitude. I told him what Rose said…that they were going to get married, and that son of a bitch laughed!"

I was momentarily taken aback, as I'd never heard Bella curse before. Her face was a mask of fury, her fists were clenched so hard that she was shaking. She was mad, but there was something else at work here.

"What else happened?" I muttered, almost afraid to hear her answer.

"He...he just…"

"Did he touch you?" My voice was quaking with rage.

She didn't say anything but her eyes flickered away from mine for just a second and that gave me my answer.

"That bloody bastard!" I roared in fury. My heart started to pound, imagining Bella there alone with him, his hands on her, what might have happened to her... My breathing was ragged and my fists clenched uncontrollably with the desire to hit something, hard. "I'm going to rip him to pieces!"

"Edward!" Bella's voice pierced through the red fog in my head. I felt her hands on my face, forcing my head down, forcing me to look at her. "It's alright. Look! I'm fine! It's okay."

I reached out and gripped her upper arms hard. "Don't ever go near him again. Promise me!"

"Edward, calm down!"

"Edward," Esme's soothing voice cut in. I felt her hand close on my forearm softly, "Bella is alright. The girls spoke to him. Was it a little dangerous? Yes. But they are strong girls, they handled him. And now you know what you need to know about this Royce King."

"Which is pretty much nothing," Emmett sighed. "He didn't tell you anything about where she might be now?"

Alice shook her head glumly. "Not a thing. The only other thing we got out of him was that he knows a hell of a lot about all of us."

"What do you mean?" Jasper asked.

"He knew you'd been trying to track him down and that you work for the AP," she told him. "He knew Edward works at Le Tabou. He knew Emmett spends time with us. I think he's been having us watched."

We all took a minute to let that sink in.

"Why would he go through all that trouble if he really hasn't seen Rose in months?" Emmett asked to no one in particular.

"He wouldn't," Bella replied, her voice wavering slightly. "He knows where she is, I'm sure of it. And it's so much worse than I thought. She's in terrible danger."

The stress and anxiety of her day was finally getting to her. She was about to cry, I could hear it in her voice. I put my arm around her waist and pulled her into my chest, reaching up and stroking her hair with my other hand. She rested her forehead against me and fisted her hands into my shirt.

"I say we head over there and show the guy we're not afraid of him," Emmett growled. "You girls tried it your way, now why don't you let us try it our way?"

Jasper gave a terse nod of agreement and I was fully on board with that plan, but Alice interjected. "Hey, now! You guys go over there and beat the crap out of him, and what good will that do? It'll make you feel better, but do you really think he'll just tell you? He's a scary, powerful guy. He could have you all hurt or killed. And we still wouldn't know where Rose is."

"Alice is right," Esme said. "Force is not the way. He has more of it. We'll have to think of something better."

"But what?" Bella asked, despair evident in her voice. "If he doesn't tell us where she is, how will I find her?"

"We'll think of something, love," I murmured against her hair.

"Damn it all to hell!" Jasper snapped. "I'm going back over to the office. Maybe I can dig up something else on him."

"Why don't I come?" Emmett suggested. "Maybe I'll recognize a name, somebody he knows? We run in some of the same circles, after all."

Jasper gave him a long hard mistrustful glare, but eventually had to concede that Emmett was right, so he nodded his head in acceptance.

"Alice," he said, reaching out to take her arm, "don't you step foot out of here alone, got it? You wait here until I get back."

She nodded, momentarily tamed by the gravity of her situation.

"She will stay with me," Esme purred, hooking Alice's arm with hers. "I have some friends coming over tonight and just look at me! A fright! Come, ma petite Alice, you must help me get dressed."

Jasper and Emmett turned and clumped down the stairs. Alice reached out to Bella, taking her hand.

"It's going to be okay, Bella. I'm sure Jasper and Emmett will turn up something. You'll see!"

Bella gave Alice a small, tight smile before Esme pulled her away down the stairs.

Once we were alone Bella gave in and her face fell. I pulled her back into my arms, holding her against me, running my hand up and down her back soothingly.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Shhh, love. It'll be okay. We'll think of something. Come here, sit down."

I led her over to the edge of the bed since there wasn't really anywhere else in the room to sit side by side besides the floor. Thankfully all the visitors had spooked Debussy and he was hiding instead of poking his unwelcomed half-bitten nose in on us. As soon as we sat down, Bella curled into my side, seeking comfort and relief. I held her that way for a long time, rocking her gently while she regained control. I knew she didn't like to feel weak like this, so I said nothing. I just held her while she pulled herself together.

Finally she pushed away from me slightly, raising her head to look at me.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"What for?"

"Helping me. You don't have to, but you do it anyway. It's just…nice."

"If it's important to you then it's important to me," I said, aware suddenly of how serious, how committed I sounded. But I didn't care. She knew I was crazy about her, it was pointless to try and hide it.

She reached up and laid her hand on my cheek before she leaned in to kiss me. It was sweet and gentle, but Bella didn't often initiate contact so my pulse began to race from the simple kiss. I slid my arm around her waist and pulled her in against me and she didn't resist. I deepened the kiss and she let me, responding, sliding her fingers into my hair in that way that drove me mad. It must have been the adrenaline still coursing through my body, the thought that she'd been in danger just a little while ago and now I had her here in my arms. But the next thing I knew I was pressing her back on the bed, kissing her deeply, urgently. I knew I'd crossed the line as my hand unconsciously curled around the back of Bella's bare knee and she gasped.

I reared back off of her immediately, letting her up, scooting back to give her a little space. Her face was flushed, her hair mussed from the bed. She was breathing hard, her hand flat against her chest. Damn, I didn't want to stop. But it hadn't escaped my notice that she was very clearly keeping me at arms' length, both physically and emotionally. We didn't speak about it, we had some sort of silent agreement about that, but I knew what it was. She was American. She lived thousands of miles away from here. Her life was not in Paris. I didn't know what that would mean for us, but I knew I'd have to talk to her about it soon. In the meantime, I needed to reassure her that I wasn't going to push her too fast.

"I'm sorry, Bella. Really, I am. I just got carried away."

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice tight and small. I could feel her pulling even further away from me and I wanted to kick myself.

"Ah, bloody hell. I just keep messing this up," I muttered, dropping my head into my hands. "Right from the start, I've done it all wrong. Stealing your first kiss like that, you deserved better."

"My first kiss?" her head lifted slightly.

"The first time you were kissed it should have been romantic, not like I did it, some colossal misguided mistake."

"That wasn't the first time," she murmured.

Her words cut right through my sea of self-loathing and I picked up my head to look at her.

"Not the first time?"

Bella shrugged, her eyes on the floor, "Sure, there's Jacob. I'm not a child, Edward."

"Jacob?" My voice sounded tight and far away. I hadn't missed her casual use of the present tense. _There's Jacob_. Who the hell is Jacob and why is he kissing _my_ Bella? I felt my whole world constrict down to a pinprick as the implications came crashing down on me. She had someone back home. Of course she did. A girl as lovely and magnificent as she was wouldn't be wandering around alone. Someone else would have wanted her. Someone else had her.

Bella sensed the tension in my voice and finally looked up. Her face grew alarmed as she met my gaze.

"Who the bloody hell is Jacob?" I pressed.

"No, Edward, you don't understand…" she began to stammer frantically.

"You're right. I don't. What is this, Bella? What are you playing at? Am I just a distraction for you? Something to keep you amused while you kill time in Paris? An exotic little memory for you to carry home when you go back to him?" My voice was getting louder as the anger and dismay took over.

"No!" Bella scooted up on her knees on the bed and reached forward, grasping my face in her hands. "It's not like that, Edward. I swear. Will you just listen to me?"

I said nothing. I just stared back at her, which she took as an invitation to go on. I wanted her to. I wanted her to tell me it was okay, that there was only me. I didn't know what I would do if she confirmed everything I'd just said.

She sat back on her heels and released my face, moving her hands to grasp mine in her lap. She looked out through the skylight at the Paris rooftops and took a deep breath.

"There was someone at home, Jacob. I've known him all my life. He wants to marry me."

"You're _engaged_?" I shouted, trying to pull my hands back, but Bella didn't release me.

"No! We're not. I said he wants to marry me. We dated in high school, but we weren't really committed once I went off to college. I saw him on vacations and he'd still take me out, but nothing serious. He would still talk about marrying me one day and I never told him no. But…since I got here and met you, it's all…everything just feels different. I see now that I never loved him, not like I should. I could never marry him."

She exhaled heavily and began to rub her thumbs back and forth across the backs of my hands. I smiled a little at her casual gesture of affection at this moment. It made me feel optimistic. Maybe there had been this bloke back home, but it seemed like she was saying they were finished.

"See, here's the thing about Jacob," she went on. "It was all just easy. He was always part of the plan I have for my life. I was going to finish college, move back home, become a teacher, marry Jake. But since I got here and met you everything has gotten so complicated…I'm just really confused."

I knew she was anxious. Hell, I was, too. This was all overwhelming and unplanned, for both of us. I didn't want to press her for a decision or a declaration too soon, because I feared it would just drive her away from me. So I reached up and cupped her jaw with my hand, running my thumb over her cheekbone lightly.

"Hey, you don't have to figure it all out right now. Just tell me that you're not running back into the arms of another man and I'm happy."

She smiled at me, relieved. "No, I'm not."

"See? That's all I need. Come here."

I reached around to cradle the back of her head, pulling her forward so I could kiss her. She came readily and kissed me back eagerly. I sighed, grateful that we were still okay.

Bella eventually pulled away and sat back on her heels again, still holding my hands. I was glad she was still touching me so casually. I wanted this girl, more than I'd ever wanted a girl before. But Bella wasn't going to give herself to me lightly, I knew that. First, it just wasn't in her nature. But second, our peculiar circumstances and the transient nature of our relationship were making her doubly cautious. Yes, I wanted her and I was sure eventually I'd have her, but it would have to be on her timeline. And I was willing to be very patient.

"Edward?"

"Hmmm?" I was absently tracing the outlines of her fingers against her dark skirt. She had beautiful hands. I should draw her, I thought. Immediately I was thoroughly distracted by images of Bella, pale and wrapped in a sheet, posing for me. I nearly moaned out loud.

"Can I ask you something?"

I shook my head to snap myself out of my entirely unwholesome fantasy and made myself meet her eyes. "Of course."

"Who's Kate?"

Her question caught me completely off guard and I scowled a little in response. "I told you, someone I knew in England."

"I know that. Who was she to you?"

I sighed heavily. It had been years since I'd talked about Kate to anyone. I felt like I was dragging a dusty trunk of her memories out of the farthest reaches of my mind.

"She was my girlfriend, when I lived in England," I finally said, my voice emotionless.

"And she died?"

I nodded tightly.

"Can I ask what happened?"

I looked past Bella, out through the skylight, fighting against the old anger and pain.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Well, it was just odd that you said her name during that fight in the alley. You were so angry, not even like yourself. And then today, when you found out I went to see Royce, it was that same anger. Does it have something to do with Kate?"

I chuckled humorlessly and shook my head a little at her perceptiveness. She'd figured me out even when I hadn't managed it myself.

"She died in a bombing run. In London, near the end of the war."

Bella gasped softly. "Oh, Edward. I'm so sorry."

I shook my head to dismiss her pity. I didn't want it, need it, or deserve it. "It was my fault. I wasn't there to get her out in time."

Bella said nothing, she just sat back and stared hard at me. I ducked my head to avoid her gaze, not wanting to see the disappointment in her face.

"Edward," she breathed. "You can't really believe that, can you?"

I shrugged, unable to find anything to say.

"No, look at me." Her voice was firmer, her hand came up to my chin, forcing my face up. "Edward, it was horrible that it happened to her, but you can't blame yourself for not saving her."

I could and I did, but I didn't say that to Bella. Her face was so earnest, her concern for me was nearly breaking my heart. I smiled with as much warmth as I could muster. She smiled back but it didn't reach her eyes.

"It wasn't your fault," she whispered.

"One day I might believe that," I returned. She opened her mouth to protest but I decided to play a cheap angle and distract her, pulling her forward onto my lap and leaning in to kiss her gently. She was just beginning to kiss me back when we heard light footsteps scurrying up the stairs to the garret. Bella was scrambling back out of my lap as the door swung open to admit Alice, tiny and crackling with energy.

"Oh, geez! Sorry!" she breathed, a hand clamped to her mouth, as she realized she'd walked in on us.

"That's alright, Alice,' I said with a rueful grin, "just come right in."

Bella scrambled up off the bed, smoothing her skirt down. "What is it, Alice?"

"Oh, Bella," Alice said, remembering what brought her up. She shot forward and seized Bella's hand, pulling her towards the door. "You have to come down. Esme's got the most amazing guests here tonight and you're missing it!"

Bella looked back over her shoulder as Alice yanked her through the door. I smiled reassuringly at her and raked a hand through my hair before I stood to follow her. After all, I'd follow this girl anywhere.

* * *

**A/N**: **Thank you to everyone who's reading, reviewing, reccing, alerting, favoriting, and lurking. You guys are great. If you didn't check out the livejournal update for the last chapter, you should! http://spanglemaker9(dot)livejournal(dot)com/**


	13. Woman with Yellow Hair

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

* * *

My second Esme Benoit party was just as chaotic as the first, though shorter lived. I followed Alice blindly through the house with Edward trailing behind, stopping occasionally to meet someone, smile and chat for a moment before moving onto the next person Alice was dying to talk to. I met a poet, two artists, and a prima ballerina for the Paris Opéra Ballet.

The events of the afternoon had overwhelmed me. My encounter with Royce had still been fresh in my mind when Esme, Alice, and I had run up Edward's attic stairs. He reacted exactly how I thought he would, but in the aftermath something unexpected happened. Once we were alone, he let me cry until I was calm again, offering words of comfort. He was tender.

When he kissed me it was intense and wonderful, and completely confusing. And then I opened my big mouth and let Jacob's name slip. The look on Edward's face when I told him that Jacob wanted to marry me... it was devastating. He looked heartbroken and absolutely furious at the same time. I rushed to reassure him, even though I wasn't sure about anything myself. All I knew was that Edward wasn't just someone I was spending time with while I was in Paris. He was so much more than that.

After less than two weeks, everything that seemed easy and right before Paris suddenly looked completely unappealing. The thought of leaving behind the freedoms that I had gained here and returning to the drudgery of my English classes in Seattle, and then to the quiet, all-too-restricting shelter of my parents' home in Forks made my heart clench. Staying in Paris without a job or a plan was impossible, but falling back into my normal routine seemed equally so.

Edward walked me home after only about an hour of mixing with the colorful personalities that littered his house. It was just as well, because neither of us was in the mood to be light and social. Edward barely said three words while he followed me and Alice around, despite Alice's attempts to pull him out of his shell. I hoped he wasn't still dwelling on Jacob. I smiled to myself when I remembered how I had distracted him. The feel of his lips, the sound of his sighs as he pressed himself closer to me... I knew that whatever happened, I couldn't ever forget the way he looked when he kissed me. Sensual. Blissful. Beautiful.

Just as he had every night since the attack, Edward walked me right up to the door of Alice's apartment.

"No more going off on your own, do you understand me?" he murmured, pulling me into his chest as we said goodbye. "If anything had happened to you..."

"I know," I whispered, inhaling the peculiar perfume of cigarettes, coffee, and paint that always seemed to linger around him. "I promise."

He kissed the top of my head and pulled back to look at me. "Are you going to the market tomorrow?"

"No, I got enough yesterday to last us a couple of days. We still have about another day's worth of supplies."

"Do you want to come to the quai with me then? I was planning on going around my usual time. We can stop for coffee and a pastry at that café you like so much and you can bring your notebook? We'll make an afternoon of it, just you and me."

I smiled as he cradled my face in his hands for a moment and ran his thumbs over my cheekbones. My heart pounded and my stomach swooped.

"Okay," I breathed. "I'll meet you at Esme's by noon."

"Don't be silly, Bella, I'll pick you up on my way."

I frowned and pulled away. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm perfectly capable of walking to your house by myself. I'm not on your way."

When he didn't answer, I added, "I'm not going to go wandering off by myself, Edward. I learned my lesson. Please just let it be."

He stared into my eyes for a moment before carefully lowering his face to my own. He brushed his lips against mine, so soft, and then dropped his hands and stepped away.

"Be safe."

"You worry too much," I teased, unlocking the door and stepping inside. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"If you weren't such a magnet for danger I wouldn't have to worry so much," he retorted. "And yes, you will. If you're not there by noon I'm coming to look for you. Heaven help you if you're in some new kind of mischief." He flashed me a mocking smile, but as he turned to go I saw a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes.

I closed the door and wandered through the apartment to my room, kicking off my shoes and dropping my clutch on the side table as I went. Edward's concern warmed me, but it was also kind of annoying. Even after I had told him not to treat me like a child, he continued to act like an overprotective guardian. A kind, loving, and extremely handsome overprotective guardian.

Everything I was feeling reminded me of something I had read in Rose's letters. I smiled for a moment, appreciating her words of romance in an exotic city for the first time. Reading about it and actually feeling it myself was very different. Then I compared Royce and Edward, and my smile slipped away. Just thinking about Royce made my skin crawl. His hand in my hair, the predatory way he approached me, the nasty gleam in his eyes and the harsh way he described Rose, the woman who loved him.

He was dangerous and frightening, and somehow I just knew that he had Rose. Maybe she was locked away in his house, frightened and unable to leave. She could be hurt, with no one to help her.

I had promised Edward I wouldn't go wandering off on my own... but if I knew where I was going, it wasn't exactly wandering, was it? Somehow I didn't think that Edward would appreciate the distinction. The more I thought about it, though, the more I knew I couldn't just sit around and do nothing. Emmett and Jasper would get whatever additional information they could get, but in the end it was still just talk. I needed to take action, do _something_ that would make me feel less powerless.

I pulled out my map and spread it on my bed, measuring the distance between Royce's house and Esme's. The inklings of a plan started to form in my head, but I would have to carry it out on my own. Alice probably wouldn't agree to come with me, especially considering her assessment of our situation this afternoon. I had a fuzzy idea of stakeouts and undercover operations thanks to radio serials and fragments of conversations I'd overheard my father have. Maybe if I could follow Royce when he thought he was alone and safe, he would lead me to something or someone who could help us. It would be risky, and I would have to time it so that Edward didn't catch on to what I was up to, but I thought I was familiar enough with the city to stay safe and make it back to meet Edward by noon.

Thus decided, I folded up my map and climbed into bed. I would need a good night's sleep if I was going to pull this off.

*****

Alice was singing at the coffee pot when I woke up, just like she had been almost every morning since I arrived. I had never been a big coffee drinker, but it was starting to grow on me. I would have to see about getting a coffee pot when I returned home. There was something comforting about the way it smelled that I appreciated even more than the sharp jolt it gave me when I drank it.

I got dressed and walked into the kitchen to collect my market basket. Alice knew that Edward had been obsessively protective, and she would get suspicious if I appeared to be sneaking off somewhere without him. The market was a plausible excuse.

"You're up early," she said with surprise. "And already dressed? It's not even nine o'clock yet!"

"The early bird catches the worm," I sang, masking my nerves with false cheer. "Do you think you could pin my hair up in that twist you wanted to try? I can't seem to get it to work."

She beamed at me. "Of course! Let me get some hair pins and I'll—"

I held out a handful of pins and a hairbrush, and I swear she almost cried. "What did I tell you? You were a blank slate and now look at you. As stylish as any Parisian, prepared for anything."

I laughed and slid into a chair, listening as Alice gave me a rundown on her plans for her day. She didn't have any assignments at the magazine, although she promised that we would go back soon because her friend Paul had been asking about "petit belle."

"Is Edward coming to take you to the market?" she asked, sliding one last pin into my hair and handing me a hand mirror. It felt odd to have everything pinned up; I was so used to feeling my hair swish against my neck. I still couldn't get over how different I looked from how I was when I arrived. I was a different person.

"He's meeting me there, and then we're going to get a coffee and work for the afternoon. Well, he'll be working, I'm just planning on doing some doodles." I gestured to the composition book at the bottom of my basket.

"You know, plenty of people make their living off of writing," Alice said thoughtfully. "You carry that notebook everywhere these days. I bet Jasper could help you find someone to talk to about getting published. Esme could too, she knows so many authors."

"I'm not looking to be an author, don't be silly," I blustered. The thought of being published, of sharing my little stories with strangers, made my heart pound, but I kept my face calm and reserved. Alice had been wonderful, but I wasn't quite ready to share all my secrets with her yet. Knowing her, she would probably latch onto the idea and never let it go. She wouldn't listen when I explained that small town girls like me weren't rich-and-famous-author material.

I stood up and adjusted my skirts. "It's just a hobby. I'll be back later this afternoon."

The walk to Royce's house took longer than it had the other day, and I had to check my map a few times to make sure I wasn't getting lost. The possibility of losing my way was suddenly more real to me. It didn't seem like a big deal the night before when I was tracing routes with my map in front of me, but I couldn't have my map out and follow Royce with any kind of stealth. It was highly possible that I would end up somewhere completely unfamiliar and far from Edward with no idea how to return.

I paused, concealed behind a stoop several doors down from Royce's house, and considered the problem. Rose was still missing. She could be hurt, or captive somewhere. No one was taking any action. On the other hand, if I got lost we would both be missing, and God only knows how I'd get myself out of that kind of trouble. I knew Edward would tear the city apart looking for me, but Royce scared me.

It was that fear that decided it for me. What kind of friend would I be if I abandoned Rose when things got hard? I had traveled across the world just to find her, I couldn't stop now. If it seemed like Royce was going to an unfamiliar part of the city, I would abandon my stakeout for another day. And who was to say he would even show his face this morning? There was a good chance that he was already out and about for the day, doing business somewhere outside his home. Yes, I would just sit and watch the comings and goings on the street until it was time to go meet Edward.

I had been camped out behind the stoop for nearly an hour when Royce's door swung open. I nearly jumped out of hiding, but managed to duck down just in time. I had kicked out and made a bit of noise, but as Royce walked down his front steps toward the street he didn't glance in my direction once. A book was tucked under one arm and he carried a parcel wrapped in brown paper under the other.

He was dressed exactly has he had been the day before, crisp white shirt, dark suit, shiny black shoes. The only change was the addition of a fedora on his head, shading his face from the bright March sunshine. He walked briskly down the sidewalk, passing my hiding spot without looking at me and continuing on his way.

I held my breath as he passed and then crept toward the sidewalk, watching him as he moved quickly away from me. So far, it looked like he was heading toward Edward's house, which was convenient for me. Unfortunately, I only really knew the route directly from where I was standing to Edward, and any deviation would probably confuse me. I watched him turn the corner before I jogged after him. My map was tucked in my notebook. I would just have to pay attention to my surroundings and stop if I got too turned around.

I made sure to stay at least a half a block behind Royce at all times, weaving behind pedestrians and staying as out of sight as possible as I followed him. He kept up his brisk pace, never pausing to look at a storefront or seeming at all uncertain about where he was going. I wondered if he was headed to some sort of business appointment and felt a surge of fright as I remember that James was one of his "business" associates. Who knew what kind of men he did business with on a regular basis?

"Courage, Bella," I said aloud, earning a sideways glance from the old man I was walking next to. I smiled and walked ahead of him, breaking into a shuffling run to keep Royce in sight. He turned another corner.

We were in a fairly residential area, small shops scattered at street level much like the neighborhood where Alice and I lived. It was a little dingier than where Royce lived, and the buildings were all shabbier and in a state of slight disrepair.

Royce had stopped in front of a door just around the corner, so I paused, hidden, to watch him. He shifted the book underneath the brown paper package and knocked. I held my breath, curious to finally see who Royce was visiting. He frowned impatiently and knocked again, and seconds later the door opened. I saw a flash of long, blonde curls before he stepped through the door and it shut behind him.

My heart skipped a beat. While I was sure there were many blonde women in Paris, I couldn't help but hope that he had led me to Rose. But why would she be staying at a different house? Was she staying with friends of his? I grinned at the thought that I would have all these answers soon. As soon as Royce left I would knock on the door and see for sure. If it was Rose, I could rescue her from her situation. She could come with me to meet Edward and Esme and Carlisle, and we would talk about our plans to return to Forks. After months of worrying, I would finally be able to see her and talk to her.

Royce was inside for about a half hour, and I was starting to get antsy by the time he walked out. He wasn't carrying anything anymore. He glanced down the street in my direction and I ducked out of sight again, my heart pounding. For a split second, it had seemed as if he saw me. I jogged down the street toward a small café and ran in, hiding myself behind a bouquet of flowers that sat on a high table. Less than a minute later I saw him walk past the café, glancing around suspiciously. I held my breath until he was completely out of sight.

Cautiously, I crept back onto the street and took off for the house I had seen Royce enter. I ran up to the door and knocked, elated that I might have finally found my missing friend.

The door swung open and I was confronted by a petite red headed girl in a grey blouse and skirt, an white apron hanging around her waist. She looked up at me in confusion.

"Excuse me," I said with a faint smile. "I'm looking for Miss Rosalie Hale. Is she home?"

"Un moment, s'il vous plaît," she said, bobbing a small curtsy. She turned and took a few steps into the house and called throatily, "Mademoiselle Rosalie!"

She gave me a quick wave, motioning me to step inside. "Entrez, mademoiselle."

I hesitated, but the girl gave me another insistent wave and bellowed again, "Mademoiselle! You 'ave a visitor!"

I stepped inside and she shut the door quickly behind me. "Attendez ici, s'il vous plaît." She started to walk toward the nearest doorway, but was interrupted by the most welcome sound I'd heard in months.

"What did I tell you about hollering like an Indian, Giselle?" Rosalie asked, striding quickly through the same doorway Giselle had been headed toward. "You know Royce doesn't approve of—"

Her eyes fell on me and she gasped, one hand flying up to her mouth. We stared at each other, completely frozen.

Rosalie looked exhausted, but well looked after. Her hair hung in perfect blonde curls down her back, and she wore an elegant black dress that flared out into a full skirt. A gold pendant hung around her neck and more gold clinked at her wrists.

"Bella?" she gasped. "What are you doing here? Why are you in Paris? How did you... I just..."

"You stopped writing," I said quickly, stepping forward and grabbing both her hands in my own. "I was so worried, and then I got a letter from Alice telling me you had disappeared, and I was frightened. I came as soon as I could get to a boat. I've been looking for you since I got here, asking anyone I could find who might know about you."

Rose's violet eyes widened slightly, out of happiness or fear, I couldn't tell. It looked almost as if she was about to cry. She cleared her throat and let go of my hands. "Won't you come and sit down? The sitting room is just through here."

She turned abruptly and took off back into the house. I just stared after her for a moment, confused about her sudden shift in mood.

"Are you coming?" she called impatiently. I jogged after her then, following the sound of her voice. She was seated in a room right off the hall on a rigid looking armchair. When I walked in, she gestured to an equally stiff settee and said, "Please, sit down."

I walked toward her, letting my eyes linger all over her, trying to take her in. She was here. She was alive. She was safe. She did have purple bags under her eyes, and her normally flawless complexion looked a little flushed, but other than that she was the same Rose who had left me in the summer.

"I'm afraid I don't understand why you felt you needed to come," she said as soon as I sat.

"You didn't write me," I said again, still giving her a once over. And then my eyes fell on the one part of her that had definitely changed. A distinct bump filled out the middle of her dress. The black had disguised it in the dim light of the hall, but it was more obvious when she was seated.

"I've been busy," she said crisply, noticing my preoccupation and moving a hand to cover her belly.

"Rosalie," I breathed, leaning forward. "Are you... are you pregnant?"

"What does it look like, Bella?" she said, her tone cold. I flinched.

"But I don't understand...why didn't you tell me? I can help you, you don't have to do this alone." My mind was spinning with the consequences of this unexpected news. Rosalie, pregnant. Rosalie, a single mother. We had known a girl who got pregnant in high school. Her parents sent her away to have the baby, and she returned months later, shamed and shunned. My heart broke at what this would mean for Rose, especially in a town as small as Forks.

"I'm not doing this alone," she said immediately. "Royce is going to marry me. Once he's finished with his business here in Paris we're going to Switzerland to be married and then we'll start our life together. He promised me a tour of Europe for our honeymoon before we go to London to live. He's been extremely generous. I doubt you could give me anything that he couldn't give me ten times over."

The harshness in her voice cut me, and I blinked rapidly, trying to take deep, steady breaths. The idea of my sweet friend marrying the monster who had threatened me repeatedly terrified me, though, so I pressed on. "Rosalie, Royce isn't a good man. You can't marry him." I tried to put a firm edge to my tone, like I would if I was trying to reason with a small child. "He associates with drug dealers and criminals. He told Alice and me that he didn't even know you, that you were some cheap whore." The words were harsh, but she needed to hear them. If she just knew what kind of man she was dealing with, I could convince her to leave with me.

"How dare you?" she gasped. "Royce has provided everything for me; this house, jewelry, clothing, a housekeeper."

"You've never cared about those things before," I said quietly. "Why does all that matter? Rose, you can tell me if he's done something to make you stay. I have friends here who can protect you until we figure out how to get home to Washington."

"Things have changed." She sat ramrod straight, one hand still on her stomach and the other gripping the arm of the chair tightly. "I don't have anyone to look out for me. It's just me in this world, and now it's me and my baby. Royce is going to provide for us. There's nothing left for me in Washington."

"You have me," I whispered, stung by her words. "You have my parents."

"Your parents aren't going to approve of a baby out of wedlock," she sneered. "And don't pretend you aren't looking at me differently right now."

When I didn't say anything, she squared her shoulders and looked me in the eye. She looked fierce and haunted.

"What do you want me to do, Bella? Give up all of this so I can go back to that Podunk little town and have my baby alone, no father to raise him, no degree, no job? For what? Because you can't stand to see me living the life I was always meant to have? Because you hate that a successful, distinguished man like Royce noticed me?"

She may have looked like Rose, but this angry, haughty woman in front of me was not my friend. My friend had been warm and loving. We almost never fought, and if we did we made up quickly, with a hug and a smile. My friend wasn't materialistic and she didn't care about appearances, despite her obvious beauty.

"What's happened to you?" I asked, my eyes filling with tears.

"I learned exactly what life has to offer," she said softly. Her face kept its frozen sneer, despite the melancholy edge to her voice. "I'm getting what I deserve."

"Rosie, please." It was a low blow, using her childhood nickname while I begged her to listen. She pressed her lips in a thin line and took a shuddering breath. "I just want to help you," I said again.

"I don't need your help," she said, standing swiftly. "I think you should go."

I followed her blindly back to the front door, trying to come up with anything that would make her listen to me. She opened the door and looked me in the eye. Her eyes were blank, emotionless.

"You need to leave, Bella. Don't come back. Stop asking about me, and don't speak to Royce again. I'm living my own life now. You should do the same."

I walked out onto the porch, fighting tears. Before she could close the door, I stuck out my foot to catch it and tried one last time. "I'm staying with Alice. I don't know how long I'll be in town, but I'll be there until I leave for home. If you change your mind, you know how to find me."

She nodded and I moved my foot. Seconds later, I was staring at the back of that nondescript, painted door. The brass knocker leered at me, and I stumbled down the steps, heading back in the vague direction of Edward's house.

I don't know how I got there. Tears clouded my eyes, and I'm sure I looked like a complete mess. The only thing that kept my feet moving was the knowledge that if I didn't make it to Edward by noon, he would come looking for me. If he found Alice alone at the apartment, without any idea where I really was, there was no telling what he would do.

I walked into the house without knocking, as Esme always urged me to. No one was on the first floor, so I started walking up toward Edward's garret, sobbing noisily. Pieces of my hair had come unpinned and my nose was running. My market basket was still tucked under my arm, thankfully. After getting in to see Rose, I hadn't even thought about it, just clutched it reflexively.

"Bella?" Edward's voice filtered down from the floor above me, and I heard the sound of footsteps on his rickety stair. "Is that you? It's about time you got here, I was about to start scouring the city."

His voice was light and cheerful. I could practically hear his smile. I started to run up the stairs, in a rush to get to him so he could hold me and tell me what to do now. In that moment, I needed Edward like I needed air.

He appeared at the top of the second story, and I barreled into him, knocking the bag he held out of his hands and wrapping my arms in a vice grip around his waist.

"It's nice to see you too," he laughed, patting me on the back. After a second, he realized I was crying and he held me a little tighter. "Bella? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

I sobbed harder, shaking my head and clutching his shirt. I was probably ruining his shirt, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

"Bella, love, you have to talk to me. Take some deep breaths. What's wrong?" His voice had taken on a desperate, panicky edge, and I was afraid of what he would do if I didn't give him some sort of explanation. I pulled away and wiped my face with my sleeve. Alice would have been horrified, but it served its purpose.

"I found Rose."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Check the livejournal page for a very short update: http://spanglemaker9(dot)livejournal(dot)com/**


	14. Little Girl Blue

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

* * *

I stood there frozen for a long moment, my hands clamped tightly around her shoulders as Bella sobbed, her eyes squeezed shut.

"What do you mean, you found her?" I finally asked.

"Don't get mad," she moaned softly.

My teeth clenched and I concentrated on not digging into her shoulders with my fingers. "What happened?" I ground out from between my teeth.

"I f-followed Royce this morning."

"_What?!"_

"Please..." she begged, her voice just a raspy whisper.

I closed my eyes and inhaled through my nose sharply, "Alright."

"He went to another house… off Boulevard St. Germain. I waited until he left and I knocked…"

"Yes?"

Bella finally opened her eyes and met mine. Her huge dark eyes were flooded with pain. The sight made my chest constrict.

"It…it was Rose…I saw her there…"

"Darling, what happened? What did she say to you?" I made my voice as soft as possible, because I scarcely recognized the trembling, broken girl in front of me. Something truly awful must have happened.

Bella couldn't get any more words out, and her sobs overtook her again. We were still standing on the dim, dusty landing at the foot of the stairs to the garret, and it was clear to me now that she was still too distraught to get any useful information out. I needed to calm her down first. I slipped my arm around her shoulder and half-led, half-carried her up the stairs. I pulled her across the room to the bed and sat, gently pulling her down next to me. I pushed her coat from her shaking shoulders and tossed it on the chair. Her sobs hadn't ceased and her whole body was sagging, nearly doubling over on itself. I scooted back so I was reclining, my shoulders propped up on the headboard, and pulled her with me until she was stretched out along side of me. She dropped her head onto my chest, fisted her hand into my shirt and wept uncontrollably for several long minutes. There was nothing I could do but stroke her hair and whisper reassuring nonsense words in her ear.

"Love," I murmured, "tell me what happened. I want to help."

She drew a deep shuddering breath and she choked out a few muffled words. "It was so awful, Edward. She told me to leave, to forget all about her…that she was never coming home…she said I was just jealous…and, Edward…oh, God, Edward….she's _pregnant_. Rose is pregnant."

Bella fell apart again on the last word, sobbing as if her heart here breaking.

My blood ran cold. Of course. There had to be a reason the girl vanished. That bastard had gotten her in trouble. But the rest didn't make any sense. Why would she be so cruel to Bella? From everything Bella had told me of Rose and their close friendship, it didn't sound at all like her. Could Bella have been so wrong about her all this time?

"I'm so sorry, Bella," I murmured against the top of her head as I rubbed circles on her back. Because what else could I really say? She had come halfway around the world to find Rose only to be shown the door. Her heart was breaking and it made mine break as well.

I don't know how long we laid there, Bella curled into my side weeping while I just held her and comforted her, before she gradually quieted. The weeping had subsided, but she still said nothing, she just drew occasional long shuddering breaths and worked her fist around the fabric of my shirt. I hated how upset she was, but I couldn't deny that it felt good to have her need me this way.

Finally she sighed deeply and spoke, her voice low and raspy.

"I don't even know what to do anymore. I came all this way, I've been trying to find her for so long, and now…."

I squeezed her shoulders to encourage her to go on.

"I gave up everything for her. I left my parents without a word, I left school... I won't graduate now. Oh, God, I spent all my savings! I kept thinking that once I found her, she could pay to get us home. I don't have any money!"

The dawning realization of her situation made her voice frantic. I reached up quickly to run my hand down her face, trying to soothe her.

"Shh, it's okay, Bella. You're not alone. You have Alice. You have Esme and Carlisle. You have _me_. You won't be out on the streets. I'll take care of you. It will be alright, I promise. Just…let's not think about the details any more today, alright? You can think about it tomorrow, once you've had a rest."

It was true that I wanted her to calm down, get some sleep, before she started thinking about what came next, but honestly I couldn't bear to hear her talk about it yet. With no Rose to find, what was holding her here in Paris? She might just call her parents tomorrow to wire her the money and get on the next ship back to the States. My chest began to contract painfully at the thought, making me panic slightly. Anything to hold off that horrific possibility for another day.

She softened against me and sighed deeply.

"Thank you, Edward."

"Nonsense, Bella. I don't need your thanks," I said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She shifted, pushed herself up until she was half-sitting, holding herself up on her arms, so she could see my face. Her beautiful expressive brown eyes were glassy with tears and puffy. Her skin was pale and her elegant hairstyle had completely fallen, leaving her hair tangled and wild around her shoulders. She was absolutely lovely.

"No, you do," she said, insistently, reaching out to place her hand against my cheek. "You've done so much for me, Edward. I just…I don't even know how to thank you."

I smiled softly at her which prompted a tiny, weak smile from her in return, and that made me feel infinitely better. I leaned forward a little and kissed her gently. Bella leaned into me, kissing me back. I was terrified of what came next between us, terrified of losing her, but when she kissed me like this, all those concerns faded away. I could only feel Bella.

We tangled together for an interminable time, her hands sliding through my hair, my fingers skimming down her face, our lips pressing, nipping, tasting. Then I felt Bella's fingers slip down my neck to my chest. There was a rustle of movement between us and I realized that Bella was unbuttoning my shirt. The thinking part of my brain knew that this was all wrong, that she didn't want this, at least not now, not like this. But then she freed the third button and her warm little hands slid under the fabric, against my abdomen and I was lost. Her fingers made quick work of the last two buttons and then she was pushing my shirt back and off my shoulders. I shrugged free of it and moaned, rolling us so that she was under me, kissing her with all the desire and urgency I felt.

My hands were acting of their own accord, grasping the back of her calf, pulling her leg up, pushing her skirt aside so I could run my fingers up her leg to where her stocking ended and her silky skin began. She gasped at the sensation and I left her mouth, moving to kiss her neck, the curve of her jaw, the hollow at the base of her throat. I shifted back to kiss her lips as my fingers landed on the tiny pearl buttons of her blouse, and I paused, needing her to tell me this was alright.

"Bella?"

She froze underneath me.

"Oh, God…" Bella moaned, suddenly jerking herself to the side, away from me.

"Bella, stop," I rasped, reaching out for her, trying to hold her against me. My thinking was clouded but I knew this had just gone wrong and I couldn't let her panic and run away.

"No," she cried, rearing off the bed, pushing her skirt down, her eyes frantic. "No, no, no. This is the price, isn't it?"

"Price? What price?" I sat up, raking a hand through my hair, struggling to keep up with where she was going, my heart still pounding its way out of my chest.

"You said you'd help me, that you'd take care of me, but at what cost, Edward? Is this how you want me to repay you?" Her face was twisted and she looked anywhere but at me. I flinched as if her words had physically struck me, because that's how it felt.

"Bella, no…"

"This place," she went on, scrambling for her shoes that she'd lost when we'd sat down on the bed, "it makes me do things that aren't…_me_. _You_ make me do things that aren't me. I had a life before all this!" She waved her hand absently at the skylight and the Paris skyline beyond it. "And then I came _here_ and it's like I forgot everything that was ever important to me."

She snatched her coat up off the chair and stuffed her arms roughly in the sleeves. Her hands were shaking. I couldn't believe what she was saying, her hurt, her anger…at _me_. I felt sick, in real physical pain. All I could do was sit there and let her spill it all out on me. I couldn't seem to catch up, I couldn't figure out how we'd gotten here from where we were just minutes ago. She was about to walk out of here, I could feel it, and yet I couldn't find the words to make her stay. The horrible constriction in my chest wouldn't let me find any words at all.

"Well, it's not going to happen to _me_, I swear it! I just need to get out of here…somewhere where I can think. And I need to…to get things back on track…" She was shaking her head, not even really talking to me anymore. She found her handbag where she'd left it by the door.

"Bella, please don't go." It was all I could squeeze out around the painful weight in my chest.

She shook her head absently, as if to clear it. "I have to," she whispered. Then she was through the door and her light footsteps were clattering down the garret stairs.

I sat hunched on the bed where she'd left me, staring at the door. I could scarcely breathe around this tightness in my chest, this hollow emptiness that still felt like it would crush me. Her words, what she'd accused me of…she had to know it wasn't like that. Didn't she? Couldn't she tell by now how I felt about her? Couldn't she feel that I loved her?

_Loved her?_

I sat up, stunned by the emotion that settled so surely around me. I loved Bella. Yes, I did. It didn't make any sense. We'd only known each other a fortnight, we lived across the world from each other. But none of that made it less true. I loved her.

She was going to do whatever she felt she needed to now, but suddenly I knew I couldn't let her leave without telling her. She had to know how I felt. I had to at least do that much.

I lurched up off the bed, snatching my shirt off the floor, wondering how much of a head start she'd gotten. I lost track of time sitting there wallowing in my misery. Would she go back to Alice's? More than likely. I threw myself down all three flights of stairs two at a time, nearly breaking my neck twice.

I raced through the streets, only dimly aware from the glances of the people I passed that I hadn't fully buttoned up my shirt. I was completely unkempt, running like a madman through St. Germain towards Alice's. I didn't care. Reaching the door of her building, I braced myself on the frame, gasping for air as I pressed the buzzer for her apartment. There was no answer. I tried again and waited. Nothing. It was a Saturday, so Alice wasn't working, but that didn't necessarily mean she'd be home. I turned away from the door, slumping against the frame momentarily in defeat, staring blankly up Rue de Seine. If she wasn't here, where would she go?

"Ah! You are looking for one of the Mademoiselles, yes?"

I turned to look over my shoulder, still heaving with every breath, a bead of sweat sliding down my forehead and dripping off to the ground. The front door was open and a woman stood there, looking at me expectantly. She was an older woman, too old for the tight, sexy black dress she was wearing on a Saturday afternoon. She had an empty basket over her arm, like she was going to the market…wearing that dress…with hair that color. She was smiling saucily at me, cocking one eyebrow.

"Pardonnez-moi ?" I asked reflexively.

"Is it Mademoiselle Alice? Non, Mademoiselle Bella, I think, oui?"

"You know Bella?"

"Oui, oui. She lives next door to me with petite Alice. They are charming, non? I am Madame Beauvais. "

"Enchanté," I replied automatically. "Have you seen her?"

"Mademoiselle Bella? Non, not since this morning. You are her young man?"

I smiled in spite of myself and nodded. "Yes, I am. If you see her, can you tell her I came by? It's Edward."

"Edward," she said it slowly, trying it out. Then she nodded, apparently satisfied that my name suited. "I will tell her. Would you like to wait inside for her?"

I shook my head. "No, thank you. I need to keep looking for her."

"Ah, d'accord. Good luck, my handsome boy!"

Then she patted my cheek lightly with her gloved hand and brushed past me too close, in a way that I almost would have called flirtatious, before she sauntered off down Rue de Seine.

I leaned against the door for another long moment, exhausted and defeated. I had no idea where to look next. If worst came to worst, I could always just wait here in front of her building. She had to come back eventually. But I desperately wanted to be doing something, not just sitting and waiting. I cast my mind back through our short acquaintance, looking for any clue as to where she'd go if she wasn't home and wasn't with me. And then I knew.

I shot up off the door frame, racing down Rue de Seine towards the river. She would be there, I was sure of it. The afternoon was glorious, the first really warm sunny day of spring, and the streets were crowded with people the closer I got to the river. It was worse on the Pont Neuf and it seemed for a time that the closer I got, the slower I moved. I stumbled down the stone steps and sprinted past ambling pedestrians and happy lovers until I was racing through the tiny green triangle of Square du Vert-Galant.

There she was, right at the tip, like I knew she would be, leaning on the railing, looking down at the water. The soft spring breeze blew off the water and gently ruffled her tangled hair, swirling it around her slim shoulders.

When I was within arms' reach of her, I spoke. "Bella."

She spun to face me, her whole face collapsing in sadness, tears beginning again as we locked eyes.

"Edward, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it…any of it."

"It's alright, Bella," I held up my hand to stop her.

She shook her head vigorously, "No, it wasn't. What I said to you…what I accused you of, that was awful. _I_ started it. And then I said the most awful things to you. It was just that seeing Rose today, what happened to her…and then I was worried that I was making all the same mistakes…" She was starting to cry too hard to speak.

I closed the distance between us, grasping her hands between mine. "Bella, don't. I should have stopped it. You were in no shape to make that kind of choice today, I knew that." I dropped my head and chuckled a little. "It's just that when you touched me like that I had a hard time remembering what I _should_ be doing."

She closed her eyes, dropping her head back and moaning. Apparently I was making it worse.

"I'm sorry," I amended quickly, "I don't want to make you feel bad. I do want you, rather desperately, but I know you're not willing to do that…"

"That's just it," she interrupted softly, squeezing my fingers. "I _am_ willing. Or at least I want to be. I…I want you, too." She ducked her head and blushed. "But, Edward, how can I? How can _we_? You make me so happy. I just want to be with you. But how can we get involved so deeply when I'm leaving? I don't belong here. I have a life…"

"It doesn't matter," I said, the resolution forming in my mind as I spoke. But I knew it was right. I knew what was most important. "Look, I want to be with you, too. More than anything. If you're going home, then I'll come, too."

She blinked once, then just stared for a long moment. "What?"

"I'll come with you. Back to America. I can paint anywhere, and what's important is that we're together. Bella, I love you. I'll do whatever it takes to be with you."

She said nothing, she just looked at me, her eyes wide, disbelieving. The same insecurity reared its head again, that I was just a fling for her, a pleasant distraction for her in Paris before she returned home to …_Jacob_. His name burned like fire in my brain.

"You would do that for me?" she finally whispered.

"I would do anything for you."

"Edward…" her eyes softened and her head tipped to the side. Then without warning she launched herself at me, her arms locking around my neck, her face buried in my shoulder. I caught her up against me, squeezing hard.

"So it's alright then?" I murmured against her hair.

"Oh, God, so much better than alright."

I chuckled softly, relief flooding my system, before I released her a bit, letting her settle back down on her feet. I reached up and held her face between my hands before I leaned in and kissed her softly. Bella kissed back readily, grasping my face in her hands, too.

"You would really come home with me?"

"I'd follow you anywhere, Bella."

She gave a nervous, watery chuckle through her tears. "You might rethink that if you saw Forks."

I shrugged and smiled, wrapping my arms around her waist. "Let's worry about the details later, shall we? Today has been hard enough for you. Just be with me for a little while, alright?"

She nodded wearily and smiled. A couple on a bench behind us chose that moment to get up and relinquish their seats, so I pulled her over and we sat down. I dropped my arm around her shoulders and she rested her head on my chest, our free hands joined loosely. It was late afternoon, nearly sunset, the pink and orange streaking across the sky reflected back from the Seine, shimmering and fracturing. We didn't say much, we just sat and watched the colors shift and change as the sky grew dark over our heads.

I was trying to follow my own advice and think about nothing but the feel of Bella curled against me, but my thoughts wouldn't behave. Honestly, I didn't want to leave Paris. I loved this city. It was home to me and had been for five years. But when I tried to imagine living here while Bella was halfway around the world, my heart stopped and Paris lost all of its charms. There would be nothing in Paris to love if Bella wasn't in it with me, I realized that now.

The future spread out before me as one long blank page. I never had a plan for the future before, but this was different, and a little frightening. But losing Bella was more terrifying, so I knew I'd do whatever it took to keep her with me.

The afternoon had been warm and soft, but as the light faded, the breeze off the Seine grew cool and I felt Bella shiver against me.

"Let's get you inside, love. You haven't eaten all day," I murmured, kissing the top of her head.

"I need to tell Alice about Rose," she said, her voice tired and pained.

"Esme's having people over tonight. I'm sure Alice will be there. Come home with me and we'll find her there."

Bella sighed and nodded. I stood and pulled her to her feet, wrapping my arm around her waist. She rested her head on my shoulder and we made our way slowly out of the park. I realized with a slight smile that we'd become one of _those _couples, the ones I always scowled at cynically when they lingered on the park benches, so clearly lost in each other. But now I understood. I'd happily spend the rest of my life back on that bench, lost in Bella.

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**A/N: What will they do now? Thanks for reading, and thanks for all your lovely reviews! Happy New Year :)**


	15. Things Ain't What They Used To Be

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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_I would do anything for you._

Edward led me gently through the streets of Paris, still holding my hand.

_I love you._

I couldn't make sense of the jumble of emotions I was feeling. Sadness, elation, panic, tenderness, anger, confusion. Everything mashed together in an incomprehensible blend, and all I could really do was follow Edward blindly and try to focus on the feel of his hand in mine.

_I would follow you anywhere._

Unbelievable as it seemed, I was sure he was being sincere. There was no other way to interpret the fervent gleam in his eyes, the hopeful set of his mouth. Despite the appalling way I had treated him earlier, he had chased me through the city to comfort me. He took the blame for my horrible behavior, even though both of us knew it wasn't his fault. He was willing to leave Paris, beautiful Paris, electric Paris... for Forks. For _me_.

I watched him as we walked. The setting sun lit up the varying shades of red, gold, and brown in his copper hair. He looked like a pagan god, practically glowing in the late afternoon light. Then he glanced down at me and smiled, and I was done for. My eyes were red and aching, my hair was a mess, and my nose was stuffed from sobbing for so long, but I couldn't help but smile back.

I barely noticed when we got to Edward's house. It was early enough that only a few people were seated in the large room with the piano just off the entryway. A record player was playing something lilting and sweet softly in the background, and the atmosphere seemed much more low-key than a night at Esme's usually entailed. I knew that in the next hour the house would fill to the brim with eccentric intellectuals and artists, and the noise level would skyrocket, but for now it was practically sedate.

Edward led me around the corner into the kitchen. Esme was leaning against the counter, standing in between Carlisle's legs. He held her face in his hands, gazing down at her with a soft smile. They were talking in low voices, but stopped speaking when we entered the kitchen.

"Esme," Edward said quietly, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but has Alice arrived yet? Bella needs to speak to her right away."

Carlisle turned around and Esme arched an eyebrow and frowned. "What's wrong, ma chère?"

She crossed the kitchen and pulled me from Edward's grasp. Wrapping her arms around me, she pulled me into a motherly hug.

"Carlisle, my love, can you fetch Alice? She's with Pablo in the music room. Tell her Bella and Edward have arrived, and see if she can get Jasper and Emmett to come with her as well."

"Everyone's here already?" Edward asked. I allowed myself to sag slightly into Esme's chest, inhaling her sweet perfume. I didn't want to face Alice, to tell her that everything we had done in the last two weeks had been completely pointless. I was also a little afraid of what Jasper would say. Alice practically had to bully him into helping us, and even then he had told us several times that if Rose didn't want to be found we shouldn't be looking for her.

"Yes, Emmett just arrived and Alice and Jasper arrived not more than an hour ago. What's happened?"

"Things have...changed," Edward said. He sounded as if he was struggling to keep his voice level. I felt his hand rub soothing circles on my back, and it struck me how many different meanings his words could have. We were both irrevocably changed: my reasons for staying and going had been ripped away and rearranged, and neither of knew what would happen next. Yes, things had certainly changed.

Carlisle walked back into the kitchen then, Alice, Jasper and Emmett in tow. I pulled away from Esme and turned to face them. Alice gave a little gasp, probably horrified at the state of my hair. I gave her a halfhearted smile and stepped back toward Edward.

"I think we should have this conversation upstairs," Edward said firmly. "Thank you, Carlisle."

"Of course, dear boy," he answered, his eyes traveling between us. "Is there anything we can get for you? My coffee would only make matters worse, I'm afraid, but I do have some tea for special occasions."

Edward gave him a weak chuckle and Esme grinned. "How about it, love?" Edward asked me. "Real English tea. You could use something hot."

I nodded, and Esme started bustling around the kitchen.

"You go ahead," she instructed, calling over her shoulder. "I will bring you something to eat, and Carlisle will make his tea."

The group of us made our way up to Edward's garret, Edward still laughing quietly. "I know you must be hungry, but it may have been better to stop at a café before we came home. Esme can't cook to save her life."

Alice tsked and looped an arm around my waist. "A woman doesn't need to know how to cook in this day and age, Edward. Don't be so old-fashioned."

He turned on the lamps and pulled out his battered kitchen chairs. The boys each took a chair while Alice perched on the bed and patted the space between her feet, gesturing for me to join her.

"Luckily I always carry a comb," she muttered, starting to pick at my knotted hair and pull stray hairpins out. "What _happened_ today, Bella?"

Edward stiffened, and Jasper and Emmett turned to face him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Esme and Carlisle came in with a tray of bread, a small jar of preserves, and a teapot. Several tea cups were perched upside down on the tray as well, and Carlisle served the tea while Esme spread preserves on a crusty piece of bread and passed it over to me.

"I suppose there's no more delaying it," I said. I set the bread on my saucer and put it on the ground, clasping my hands in front of me. Alice's fingers ran comfortingly through my hair, smoothing tangles. I sat in the middle of Edward's garret, surrounded by people who had been strangers just two weeks ago, people who had come together and helped me when I had no one else to turn to. They stared at me, waiting.

"I found Rose today."

I proceeded to tell them everything. I told them about following Royce, about the house off St. Germain, about Rosalie and the baby, and how she had sent me away. Alice's hands never left my hair, and Edward kept his eyes locked on my face the whole time. I heard myself tell the story as if I was someone else, detached and emotionless. I didn't think I had tears left to cry.

After I finished my story, there was silence for a moment.

"Cette fille pauvre," Esme murmured. "You are sure she meant it, then? That she wanted you to leave and never return?"

"She certainly seemed serious," I answered. I turned to face Alice. Her hands had finally stilled, and she was staring down at the floor. I stood up and wrapped my arms around her. "Thank you, Alice. I don't know what I would have done if you weren't here. I promise I'll pay you back. I'm afraid I don't know exactly what I'm going to do now. I have to see about speaking to my parents and..." I trailed off and looked back at Edward.

His face was twisted into a sad smile, but he was still staring at me with determination and ...love. There was no mistaking it now that I had a word for the emotion that filled his eyes.

"Well, I suppose we don't need this then," Jasper growled, tossing a packet of papers down on the table.

"What's that?"

"That's everything I could find on Royce King, formerly of London, England. I finally heard back from some of my better sources yesterday. Investor, philanthropist, and master of the back alley deal. James LaFave isn't the worst of his business associates either. Half the thugs and gangs in this city have had dealings with him at some point since he got to Paris in 1946. He's got a couple of gendarmes on his payroll too. If Rose doesn't want to come willingly, I doubt there's anything we can do to get her away from him. I'm..." he seemed to struggle for a moment, and then his permanent scowl softened into an apologetic frown. "I'm sorry girls. We tried. Every man chooses his own path, and sometimes our friends go down roads we can't follow."

In that moment, I saw traces of what Alice always gushed about when she returned from her days and nights spent with Jasper. Despite the fact that he was rough and somewhat untrusting, he cared about Alice, and it seemed that he cared about me, too. He really did have hidden depths.

"Thank you, Jasper," I said. "Thank you for everything you've done. You've been such a great help. And Emmett, you've been wonderful."

"Don't mention it," he said, smiling just enough so that his dimples showed. "I wish there was more we could do. I don't like the idea of a sweet kid like your friend wrapped up with a man like Royce, but Jasper's right. She would have to come willingly, or we'd never get her away. Maybe she'll change her mind. You never know." Despite his words, he didn't sound hopeful.

I gave him a half-hearted smile. "Maybe."

I stifled a yawn, but Esme saw it anyway.

"Poor dear, you're exhausted. Eat your bread and jam, go on. Come children, let's leave them to it. Come!" She started herding Jasper and Emmett out of their seats, handing her teacup to Carlisle and nudging him with her hands. They followed her instructions immediately, wearing the same tolerant and slightly amused face that Edward always wore when she bossed him around. Not one of the people in this room was related to her, either by blood or marriage, but she had taken all of us under her wing. Even through my exhaustion and hopelessness, I was a little in awe of Esme. "Alice, darling, come with me. We are neglecting our guests!"

I gave Alice one more squeeze and she hugged me back. "I'm sorry, Bella," she whispered. "I wish things had turned out differently. You came all this way."

"Hey, what would my life be like without Alice Brandon, future designer of the latest couture?" I asked, smiling in spite of myself. "I'll figure it out, Alice. Don't worry."

Once Edward and I were alone I stood up and carried my bread and tea to the table. Edward wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me onto his lap, burying his face in my hair. We sat there, not speaking or moving, for a long while. I didn't know what there was to say.

Edward's bold promise scared me. I couldn't picture his handsome face among the people in my hometown. They were shades of green and grey, and he was vibrant crimson and gold, a splash of color that stood out miles away. He would never fit in. My father would mistrust him immediately, first because he wasn't American and then because he didn't have a conventional career. My mother would probably love him, but she'd never speak up if my father had already decided Edward was unsuitable. In any event, bringing Edward back to Forks with me would smother the things that were good and different about him. He said he could paint anywhere, but I didn't think he could paint _happily _anywhere. Sometime between my arrival and that moment in Edward's garret, he had come to define Paris for me, and I couldn't picture him away from the city.

I noticed he had pulled back and was tracing shapes on my spine. From the corner of my eye I saw him staring at my face. I turned to look at him straight on and he gave a little sigh.

"What are you thinking?" he whispered.

"Just thinking about my parents... and home."

He nodded and nudged my saucer with the bread and jam toward me. "Eat," he instructed.

I sighed and took a big bite. The preserves were almost too sweet, but Edward was right, I hadn't eaten all day. I devoured the entire piece in less than a minute. He laughed, low and sweet.

"You have some jam," he swiped his thumb over the corner of my mouth, "right there." I turned my face so he could reach easier.

"Did you get it all?" I asked, running my tongue over my lips. He stared for a second, green eyes focused on my mouth.

"I think there's a little more." He leaned in and brushed his lips against mine. I sighed and leaned into him, letting myself get swept along in the feel of his kiss. It was familiar and warm, and even though kissing him was what spurred our disastrous afternoon, I couldn't help but want more.

He groaned and leaned back. I blinked, confused by the sudden lack of contact.

"Bella?" he said uncertainly. "Can we talk a little? A lot happened today."

I nodded slowly, feeling my cheeks heat slightly. Of course he didn't want to get carried away again. After my outburst this afternoon he was understandably cautious. Even though kissing him was comfortable and reassuring, I had to admit he was probably right to want to talk for a while. I stood up, kicking my heels off next to the bed and sinking into his warm, soft quilt.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Tell me more about your family. We've been so focused on finding Rose I feel like I don't know enough about you. I want to know everything."

"Oh, is that all?" I said faintly, searching for something about my humdrum life until this point that he would find interesting. I swung my feet up on the bed and he came to sit at the end of it, lifting one of my stocking feet into his lap. "I'm an only child, but I think you knew that."

He nodded and ran his thumbs firmly down the arch of my foot. I flexed my toes and he smiled.

"My parents are no-nonsense, I guess," I continued, closing my eyes and enjoying the sensation of his hands massaging my tired feet. "My father is protective. He's lived in the same small town his entire life. He's the police chief now. My mother grew up in Arizona, but her family moved to Forks when she was in high school. She never left. I think she considered it once, before she married my father, but she never talks about it. When I was younger I always thought she had had a tragic love affair and that my father and Forks were some sort of consolation prize. It was probably just my imagination though."

I paused, remembering my mother's frequent bouts of melancholy during my childhood. She loved me and my father, but it always seemed like she was destined for more. When I was younger, she was always bursting with color and energy, loud and vivacious. As the years went on, it seemed like the life was sapped from her slowly but surely. These days she was quiet and reserved, and she almost always deferred to my father when they disagreed.

"When I left, I wrote a note to them and left it in my dorm room at school, and I sent them a letter right after I arrived, so if they haven't received it yet they likely will soon," I sighed, pulling myself back to the present. "They'll be worried sick. I should call them and let them know I'm okay. I have no idea how to make international calls, though."

"Do you think..." He stopped, appearing to choose his words carefully. "Do you think you'll want to leave straight away? I have a little money saved, and I could always ask Esme and Carlisle—"

"No, absolutely not," I interrupted. "I can't ask for any more help from any of you, you've all been so generous already. I need to do this on my own."

He pursed his lips and switched to my other foot. "You don't have to be so stubborn. I want to make sure you're taken care of."

"I'm not being stubborn," I insisted. "I just want to be able to rely on myself. I'm grateful for everything you've done already, but I can't... I just can't end up like Rose. Maybe if she didn't feel so dependent on Royce she would have come with me."

"And maybe she would have said the exact same thing." His tone wasn't accusatory, but it still made me defensive.

"Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't want that life. I never have." He stayed silent, but his hands wound around my ankles, smoothing the wrinkles in my silk stockings.

"I should get a job," I mused after a while, staring out of the skylight. The street lamps were lit now, and the city was glowing. "I've never had a job before. It might be fun."

He snorted and dropped my foot, crawling up the bed to collapse on his side next to me.

"I doubt that very much."

"I'm practically a college graduate, I was going to get a job soon anyway. Besides, you have a job, and it doesn't seem so awful."

"Yes, but I don't have the kind of job that most blokes do," he corrected. He laughed, but it was humorless. "I'm a bit of a lay-about I suppose. At least that's probably what my father would say. He's a barrister."

It was the first time he had ever told me anything real about his family. "Probably? Don't you know what he'd say?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I haven't spoken to him since I came to Paris."

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't, so I took a deep breath and softly asked, "When was that?"

"Five years ago. I was eighteen."

My mouth fell open a little and I exhaled shakily. Edward was always so closemouthed about his family, I suppose I should have known there was some sort of conflict involved. But to move to another country and not speak to his father for five years was beyond the scope of the conflict I had imagined.

"And your mother? Have you spoken to her?"

He reached out for me and pulled me into his side, running his fingers up and down my bare arm. "She writes every couple of weeks or so. She knows I'm in Paris, and she has Carlisle's address because he's my father's brother, so she relies on him to pass on her messages."

"Do you write her back?"

Nuzzling my neck for a second, he sighed. "Love, I don't really want to talk about this right now."

I pulled away and turned to face him. "That's not fair. You get to ask me questions about my life and my family, but I can't ask about yours?"

"That's not what I said," he replied, narrowing his eyes slightly. "I just said I don't want to talk about this right now."

"Fine," I huffed, suddenly grumpy again. I tried to sit up, but he held me still.

"Don't go," he pleaded. "I promise we'll talk about it soon, alright?"

I nodded slowly and settled back down, propping my head up with one hand.

"What kind of job do you think you'd like?" he asked after a few seconds.

"I don't know," I answered. "I don't suppose it matters very much. I just need to make enough money to pay for my passage on a ship and then a train from New York to Seattle. What do you think I should do?"

"It would be highly convenient if you could sing or skat," he said hopefully. "I'm sure I could convince Felix and Laurent that we need a singer. We split the fee that the bar pays us equally."

I laughed. "Sorry, I'm tone deaf. I always wanted to learn how to play the piano, but my parents could never afford the lessons."

"I could teach you," he offered. He pulled my left hand out in front of our faces and examined it. "You have rather tiny hands though, that might make things more difficult." He put our palms together and extended his fingers out as wide as they would go.

"Oh, sure," I complained. "When you compare them to yours they look miniscule."

He laced his fingers through mine and raised the back of my hand to his lips. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

The look on his face made the butterflies in my stomach start fluttering again.

"Stop that," I scolded.

"Stop what?" The mischievous half grin on his face told me he knew exactly what I was talking about.

"Distracting me."

"Am I distracting you?" He smiled a little wider and glanced up at me through his eyelashes. He had longer eyelashes than I did. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not," I laughed, then yawned widely. "I'm sorry. I should probably go home so I can sleep."

"Probably." He sounded reluctant, and far from letting me go, he pulled me closer to his chest.

"You're making it very difficult to get up and go home." My voice was muffled against his chest.

"What if you didn't go home tonight?" he whispered. "You could...you could stay."

"Here? In your room?"

"Yes, here. With me. Nothing has to happen, I just... I want to be close to you tonight. Will you stay?"

I could feel my cheeks heating up at the thought of sharing a bed with Edward for an entire night. Cuddling or kissing for short bursts was one thing, but to lay wrapped in his arms, to wake up to his face next to mine...

"Okay," I said quietly.

"Really?"

"You sound surprised. Do you want me to stay or not?" I attempted to keep my voice light and teasing, even though my heart was pounding.

"Please stay," he said immediately.

"I'm going to need something to wear to bed. I can't sleep in a skirt and blouse." I didn't meet his eyes, suddenly wondering what _Edward_ would be wearing.

He jumped up and walked over to a small chest of drawers. "I think I have a shirt in here somewhere that matches my sleep pants."

While he dug through his clothes, I looked around the room. I had been here many times in the last two weeks, but every time I saw something new. Mostly it was paintings or keepsakes from his life in the city. I hadn't noticed before, but there was a distinct lacking of other people in this room. No photos, no portraits, no letters sitting out. Just Edward.

He cleared his throat and I looked back toward him. "I found it," he said with a sheepish smile. "I'll just step outside so you can change."

He handed me a light blue men's pajama top. It had long sleeves and buttons down the front.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to, er... wear the bottoms."

I blushed again and shook my head. "No, that's okay. I'll get changed quickly."

He nodded and walked out onto the landing. I heard him go down the stairs, and wondered where exactly he was going. I sat there for an immeasurable moment before I realized that he would be coming back, and that meant I had to change.

I quickly shucked my shirt and blouse, folding them neatly over the back of Edward's old armchair. I would have to wear them in the morning and I didn't think Edward would have an iron to press them with. Buttoning the shirt all the way down, I shivered slightly. The garret was drafty, and the shirt only reached halfway down my thigh.

I was just unfastening my garters when I heard a noise on the stairway. I was standing on one foot, half bent over, my stockings bunched in one hand when Edward walked in. He didn't look up at first, just walked in and closed the door. When he turned back to me, his eyes grew as big as saucers and he turned around immediately.

"I'm sorry," he stuttered. "Did you need more time?"

"What's the matter, Edward, never seen a girl in garters before?" I joked. It was easier to tease him than to embrace the utter mortification I felt right then. My legs were skinny and pale, and I was drowning in the oversized pajama top. It was also the most exposed I had ever been in front of a man before.

"Of course I have," he said defensively, and my smile slipped. _Of course he had_. Probably ten or twenty. He was handsome and smart and talented. He had probably done this countless times. A lump formed in my throat and I yanked off my other stocking quickly, tossing both stockings and garter to the chair with my clothing.

"Bella," he said, turning with an apologetic look on his face. "I didn't mean it like that."

I climbed into bed and pulled the quilt over my head, blocking out the weak light from the lamps. I knew he wasn't being hurtful on purpose, but we had shifted gears so many times this evening, from sad to comforting to angry to loving... I was exhausted and confused. I didn't want to listen to more explanations, more apologies.

I heard him rustling around in the room, and then the light went out and everything was dark. The other side of the quilt was pulled back and the mattress bounced as Edward slid in next to me. His cold fingers caressed my waist, and he settled his head in the crook of my shoulder.

"Don't be angry," he breathed. The tip of his nose ran down the outer shell of my ear, and I shivered. "There's only you, Bella. I love you."

"I'm not angry," I whispered back. I turned into his chest and felt his arm wrap securely around me.

I couldn't say those words back to him yet, no matter how much I wished I could. So much was uncertain about our future together. Would he come back to America with me? Could I let him leave behind his family in London and his life in Paris? I didn't know how long I could put off making those decisions, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that I couldn't decide tonight. I allowed Edward to cradle me to his bare chest and focused on the steady beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest. Within minutes, I was asleep.

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**A/N: Thanks for reading!**


	16. What am I Here For

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

* * *

Warm. Soft. Flowers.

I woke up slowly, only aware that I felt good…brilliant, in fact. Then there was a soft sigh and a rustle in the bedclothes next to me and I remembered why I felt so good. Bella was next to me, curled up against me. She stayed the night. And I loved her.

The long, convoluted events of yesterday fell into place in my memory like dominos falling over. Bella found Rose, and Rose sent her away. Bella's heartbreak, that complete disaster back here at the garret, racing through the streets to find her, the park, the sunset…_I love you_.

Bella stirred, turning her head further into my shoulder, nuzzling her face into my neck. I kept my eyes closed, tightening my arm around her, pressing my lips against her hair, smelling flowers again. She stayed the night. I asked her to and she did. After the hell of yesterday, she looked so raw and emotional and wrecked that I just couldn't bear the thought of taking her back to her place and leaving her alone there. So I asked her to stay and she stayed, which led to this: one of the most magnificent mornings in recent memory.

She was still asleep, I could tell from her slow, deep breathing. I was grateful. She needed all the rest she could get after yesterday, when it felt like our worlds tilted on their axis. _Our_ world. Because there was only one now, ours together. The thought of that made my chest swell and my breathing grow shallow. Everything was different now.

Bella sighed and it almost sounded like she was murmuring, soft little indistinguishable words against my skin. I couldn't make anything out. Her hand was splayed across my chest and I felt her fingers tighten slightly. She was waking up. Having her in my bed, in my arms, was indescribable. I knew that yesterday, when we'd gotten carried away and clothes were taken off; it was all too much at the worst possible time. But then later in the park she said she wanted to…she wanted _me_. More than anything I didn't want to rush her, to push her for something she wasn't ready for. But the idea that she was even considering being with me like that was just…

I had no intention of trying to push her boundaries this morning, but I figured maybe she wouldn't mind a little kissing as she woke up. I rolled to my side and dipped my head to her neck, kissing her soft skin. She groaned and her head tipped back. I smiled and traced my way up to her ear. I opened my eyes, wanting to watch her wake up and found myself confronted with one watery, rheumy yellow eye staring balefully at me: Debussy.

My eyes shot fully open and I picked up my head. That mangy cat was sitting on Bella's pillow, on her _hair_, glaring at me with his one eye, his mangled ear twitching aggressively. He growled at me, a low, nasty rumble. I growled back.

"Look, you," I hissed at him, "You may have fooled her but you don't fool me, you nasty little bugger. Now get out of here before I fling you out of the window!"

"Edward?" Bella's voice was low and groggy. "Who are you talking to?"

"No one, love. Just the cat." I turned my face down to her, smiling at her half-opened, sleepy eyes, her slightly flushed cheeks. I was dipping my head in to kiss her good morning when her eyes shot open.

"Debussy?"

She craned her head around, half twisting out of my arms. Debussy stood up off her hair and stretched lazily, purring loudly. "Hey, sweetie," she cooed, scratching him behind the ears, rolling fully away from me to wrap him in her arms. I bloody hated that cat.

I decided to try again. I slipped my arms around Bella's waist and pulled myself up against her back. "Good morning," I murmured, nuzzling into her hair.

She cast a small nervous smile back over her shoulder at me. "Good morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Yes, actually," she answered, "Surprisingly well. Thank you for letting me stay, Edward."

"I should be thanking you. I can't imagine a better way to wake up."

She blushed a bit and ducked her head. I kissed her shoulder and pulled her in tighter. She let me hold her there for a moment and it was bliss. Even that wretched cat hopped off the bed and let us have our moment.

"How are you feeling?" I asked her, running a hand up and down her arm.

She sighed heavily. "Better. But drained. Does that make sense?"

"Of course. Yesterday was hell for you, love. But I'm glad you're feeling a bit better. Are you hungry? I could go down stairs and find us something to eat."

"Not just yet, please. I want to stay like this for a while." She flushed again, embarrassed by her admission.

"Bella, I would be happy to stay right here for the rest of my life," I told her sincerely.

We lay on our sides, her back tucked up against my chest for a long time. I ran my hand up and down her arm, tracing the shape of her shoulder, the delicate bones of her hand and fingers. I watched the way the hazy cool morning sunlight coming through the skylight over the bed made her pale skin glow. It picked out the subtle red highlights in her hair and made her eyelashes cast blurry little shadows on her cheeks.

"You're so lovely," I murmured.

She laughed softly. "After all that crying yesterday I'm sure I must be a wreck."

"No, not at all," I reassured her, because it was absolutely true. She was lovely. I picked up her hand from the quilt, running my fingers around her long tapering delicate ones. "Look at your little hand, so beautiful."

"You make me feel that way," she whispered.

"Bella?"

"Yes?"

"Can I draw you?"

Her eyebrows drew together slightly. "What, right now? I'm a mess!"

I raised myself up on one elbow so I could reach up and smooth the hair out of her face.

"You're beautiful," I said softly. "I want to remember this moment forever, you here in my bed with me. So…can I draw it? Draw you?"

She met my gaze and her whole face softened.

"Yes."

I smiled broadly before dipping in to kiss her quickly. "Brilliant."

I scrambled out of bed, digging through a stack of paper on the table by the door until I found a decent sized piece of clean bristol, and I found a piece of willow charcoal that wasn't too pulverized near the bottom of my bag. Grabbing an old palette to use as a drawing surface, I climbed back on the bed and settled myself cross-legged at the foot of it.

"What do you want me to do?" Bella asked, propping herself up on one elbow. I looked up at her and my heart thudded in my chest. My pajama top was huge on her and it had shifted to the side, leaving one shoulder just barely peeking out. Her hair was a glorious dark chaotic tumble around her pale little face and down her back. The quilt had slipped to her feet and the bed sheet was a tangle of crisp white folds around her legs, stopping at her waist. The pale morning sun flooded in through the skylight behind her, illuminating her softly from behind, making her glow. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful.

"Don't move," I finally muttered. "You're perfect."

She blushed and smiled at me, but she held still and I went to work. I traced the shape of her shoulder and back first, then I laid in a swath of smudged dark for her hair. I went to work on her face next, trying to capture her clear dark eyes, the eyes fixed steadily on me, the gentle uptilt of her nose, the soft curve of her cheek, the impossibly beautiful shape of her lips. I worked on those forever and was still not satisfied, but I wanted to get all of her down, so I moved on. I worked in the shape of the collar of the pajamas against her throat, the deep v of the front and the shadow between her breasts disappearing inside. Her little hands resting on the sheets, I needed to get those on paper; the juxtaposition of her gentle curving fingers against the crisp folds of fabric, the way her ivory skin stretched taught over her knuckles, then relaxed into satin down to her shell pink fingernails.

I was just going to work on the way the sheets wrapped taught around her hip when, with a choked yowl and a flurry of patchy fur, Debussy leaped into the middle of the bed. Bella laughed and collapsed onto her side, scooping the cat up in her arms. I growled and shot him a hateful glare.

"Stupid bloody cat."

"Edward, don't be mean," she chastised softly.

"That cat hates me, Bella."

"Don't be silly. He doesn't bite you nearly as hard as he used to. That means he's getting used to you."

I rolled my eyes at her ridiculous logic, but I smiled.

"Can I see it?" she asked softly, suddenly timid.

"Of course, love," I said, scrambling up the bed to hand the drawing to her. She took it and turned it around, saying nothing for a long moment. Her eyebrows drew together and her lips parted slightly.

"What? What's wrong?" I asked, suddenly concerned. Was she insulted? Offended? Was it too intimate? Did I push her too far?

"Edward…" she said my name on an exhale, "It's so beautiful. You make _me_ so beautiful."

I sagged in relief and smiled, "Bella, that's what I see when I look at you."

She looked up, those dark eyes clear and glittering before she abruptly launched herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I laughed and tipped us backwards, pulling her down onto me. Her hair fell forward, making a curtain around my face, and I slid my fingers up into it, pulling her face down to mine. We kissed, long and slow and sensual. The feeling of her body pressing down into me, of her hands braced against my chest, of her bare legs tangling with mine, was all driving me mad.

"Bella…" I groaned against her lips.

"Mmmmm," she hummed, dipping her head and kissing my neck.

"Ah…Bella, if we don't stop…"

She sighed and raised herself up above me. "I know, I know. Sorry," she smiled. Then she leaned down and kissed me briefly. "Just...not yet," she whispered.

Her words shot through me like fire and my head fell back on the bed as Bella scrambled off of me.

"I'll just clean up quickly," she said over her shoulder, picking her discarded clothes up off the arm chair and disappearing into the bathroom. I lay still for a few minutes, willing my breathing and my body back into line, trying hard not to think about what she said and exactly how soon "not yet" might be. By the time she re-emerged, looking fresh and lovely, I was fully recovered. I kissed her forehead as I passed her on my way in to clean up.

When I came out of the bathroom a few minutes later I found her at the kitchen table, her head on her hand, reading through the packet of papers Jasper had left there yesterday evening. From the set of her shoulders I could tell the sadness and despair had settled back on her. I stepped up behind her and ran a hand down her hair.

"What are you thinking?"

She sighed and dropped the pages back on the table.

"He's so awful. I just don't understand it. How could Rose get mixed up with a man like him? She must know what he is."

"Love, if he's gotten her pregnant, she doesn't have a lot of options anymore."

Bella shook her head, "But she was _bragging_. About his money, about all the things he's bought her. She never used to care about any of that. Edward, it was like I didn't know her."

I sighed and shook my head, because I didn't understand it either. "He must have her really fooled, Bella. That's all I can guess. I'm so sorry."

She placed her hands flat on the table, fingers spread wide, and squared her shoulders. "I can't think about this anymore. Not yet. I'll just fall to pieces again."

"Come on," I said, tugging her to her feet. "Let's see who's downstairs, then maybe I'll take you out for some breakfast."

She smiled at me and nodded. We clattered down the back staircase and heard voices coming from the kitchen. When we emerged, we found a little gathering of friends already there. Carlisle was puttering at the stove while Esme leaned on the counter next to him talking and smoking. Emmett and Alice were seated at the table, drinking coffee and laughing.

"Alice, you're still here," Bella said, surprised.

Alice shot her an amused smile and arched an eyebrow at us. "So are you."

Bella blushed and looked at her feet. Alice laughed and waved a hand in the air dismissively. "A little too much champagne last night." She pointed an accusing finger at Esme, who laughed. "Esme let me crash here in one of the spare bedrooms so I didn't have to walk home."

"Yeah," Emmett said as he stretched widely, "I always wind up sleeping over. Esme's parties are funny that way."

We crossed the kitchen and sank into chairs between them as Carlisle set a cup of coffee in front of Bella. I leaned into her and whispered, "I'm sorry about this, love."

She shot me a puzzled look as she raised her cup and took a sip. The horrified look on her face was priceless, but to her credit, she didn't make a sound. She just swallowed and gamely drank again. I stifled my laughter and as I looked across the table, I saw Emmett's shoulders shaking, too.

"Carlisle went out for croissants this morning," Esme said lightly, placing a basket of warm pastries in front of us. Esme softly slapped my shoulder in warning and pointed a stern finger at Emmett. I smiled at her, but stopped laughing. Emmett and I dove for the croissants at the same time and wrestled briefly for the biggest one. Bella and Alice waited until the coast was clear before taking croissants, too.

"So, what's up, buttercup?" Alice said brightly to Bella. "What are you going to do now?"

Bella's eyes shot to me apprehensively and I smiled, trying to look…encouraging? Supportive? Whatever she needed me to be.

"Well…" Bella said, drawing a deep breath, "I've decided to stay for a bit and find a job."

Alice's face lit up and she clapped her hands together, "Bella! You're staying in Paris?!"

Bella held up a warning hand, "I haven't made any long term decisions, Alice. But at the very least, I need to earn enough money for the fares home, so I'm just going to focus on that for right now. I'll figure out the rest later." She dropped her head into her hands. "I need to call my parents today and tell them. I can't put it off any longer."

"Well, you can do it from our place," Alice said soothingly, "I'll hold your hand the whole time."

Bella looked up at her and laughed and the atmosphere relaxed considerably. We spent another pleasant half hour over breakfast, choking down Carlisle's coffee, talking and laughing about nothing in particular, until Emmett rose reluctantly, saying he had to show his face at the office at some point that day.

I rose and offered to walk the girls back to their place, mostly because I didn't want to say goodbye to Bella just yet. Alice retrieved her bag and we set off. The weather had turned to spring within the last few days. The air was soft and warm and the trees on every street were covered in tiny new green leaves. Window boxes on buildings were beginning to explode with color. It was hard to feel anything but happy on a morning like this. Bella seemed to feel the same way, holding my hand and smiling softly as we walked and Alice chattered on about the people who'd been at Esme's the night before.

"Bella, you missed one hell of a shindig last night. You'd never believe the people who showed up. There was this one fella…"

"Alice, wait," Bella interrupted, pulling on my hand to stop me. She was staring into the window of a café and I looked at her curiously to see what had caught her attention. She pointed to a small hand-lettered sign propped in the lower corner. "Recherche serveuse."

"Does that say 'waitress needed'?" Bella asked.

"Very good," I murmured, pleased at how she was picking up a little French. "Yes, it does. But Bella, are you sure—"

She dropped my hand and was halfway inside before I could finish my sentence. She snatched the sign out of the window and marched towards the zinc bar in back where a small balding man in a white apron was polishing glasses and lining them up on a shelf.

Alice and I followed in her wake. I wondered if I should jump in and offer to help her, but she seemed to have a plan and she was determined, so I stood back to watch.

"Pardonnez-moi?" Bella asked tentatively, holding up the sign.

"Oui?" he asked as he turned, craning his head back to look at her through his glasses, which had slipped far down his nose.

Bella closed her eyes for a moment and I knew she was trying to sort out what to say in her meager French.

"Êtes-vous ici à propos de l'emploi?" he asked.

Bella seemed to snag the word "employ" and nodded vigorously. He squinted closely at her.

"You don't speak French, do you?" he asked in rather clear English.

She shook her head and smiled apologetically. "No, I don't."

"How do you expect to wait tables if you don't speak French?" he snapped. Bella looked defeated and I started to take a step towards her, but Alice dropped a hand on my forearm. I looked at her and she warned me with her eyes to wait, so I did.

The café owner snorted. "You're American?" Bella nodded again.

"Eh," he growled. "Like those roustabouts up front." He waved a dismissive hand at a group of men sitting around several tables up by the front windows. I'd noticed them as we came in. They were casually dressed, rumpled, most of them wore beards. Several had notebooks open in front of them but nobody was working, they were just talking and laughing and watching the world flow by out on the sidewalk.

"They're Americans, too?" Bella asked.

"Oui. They come and order one coffee and stay all afternoon. Layabouts!" he groused, throwing his hands in the air.

Bella paused for a moment, considering the bohemians at the front of the café.

"Can't your waitresses convince them to order more?"

"Bah!" he barked. "They don't speak French either. All they can do is order coffee. And the girls don't speak English."

Bella rounded on him, smiling. "Oh, really? That's too bad."

Bella and the café owner examined each other for a long moment. He'd clearly caught her drift and was considering her. I watched his eyes travel the length of her body and I wanted to charge over there and drag her away, but Alice tightened her grip on my arm. Besides, his perusal of her didn't exactly feel lecherous. It was more of a frank appraisal of a piece of goods.

"You think you can get the layabouts to order more?" he finally asked her.

Bella beamed and nodded. "Just give me a chance," she pleaded.

He was silent for a long moment. "Alright. We'll give it a try," he said with a huff. "I could use a waitress that speaks English, I suppose. More Americans in here every day. But you learn French, and quick. Do we understand each other?"

"Absolutely," Bella said firmly. "I'm a quick study. You won't be sorry."

"Well," he said with a solemn nod. "We'll give it a try, eh? Come at eleven tomorrow. What's your name, mademoiselle?"

"Oh! Bella. Bella Swan." She stepped forward to shake his hand firmly.

"Monsieur Claud. Pierre Claud. Tomorrow, then, mademoiselle."

Bella thanked him again before backing away to rejoin Alice and me.

"Bella, did you just talk your way into a waitressing job when you don't even speak French?" Alice asked, grinning wildly.

"I guess I did," she said, smiling, clearly proud of herself.

"I have to admit, love, I'm impressed," I said, throwing an arm around her shoulders as we left the café. I made sure to do it inside so that everyone there, including the American bohemians that Bella had been hired to sweet talk, would see her with me and understand that she was only there to serve them food.

"But Edward," she said as we hit the sidewalk, "you and Alice have to teach me to speak French right away."

"Of course, Bella. You'll pick it up in no time."

"You'll be fine, Bella," Alice reassured her. "You're so smart. I was a lousy student and even I manage enough French to get around."

"Okay, so start teaching me!" Bella insisted.

"Now? While we walk?"

"We're ten minutes from home. I can learn a lot in ten minutes. Go," Bella said firmly.

Alice and I spent five of those ten minutes arguing about what would be most useful for Bella to learn first. Alice was adamant she needed to know how to flirt in French. I insisted she was better off knowing things like "Chicken, beef or fish?" I won out, mostly because I refused to teach Bella how to flirt with other men, and by the time we reached the apartment, Bella had learned "Are you ready to order?" and "Can I bring you the check?" She wasn't kidding, she was a very fast learner.

"Alright, kids," Alice drawled as we reached the door. "I'll head on in so you two can say goodbye in private. Don't get in any alley fights or make any tearful declarations in public while I'm gone, okay?"

Bella laughed as Alice disappeared inside.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay, love?" I asked, reaching out to put my hands on her hips and pull her closer to me.

Bella rested her hands lightly on my arms and shook her head.

"Talking to my dad is going to be hard enough. You'll just distract me. No, best to just get this over with. You need to paint today anyway. I took up your whole day yesterday."

"You know I didn't mind that. I have to play at le Tabou tonight. Will you come?"

She nodded. "For a while anyway. I can't stay out too late since I have to work tomorrow. Wow, that sounds funny, doesn't it? I can hardly believe it."

"You amaze me, Bella. Truly."

She looked down and smiled. I leaned in and kissed her softly, choosing to leave things light and easy after all the turmoil of the past day. With any luck, now that she was staying a bit longer, we might have a chance to just be together and enjoy each other. At least, I fervently hoped so.

"Alright, love. Go call your parents. I'll come by at eight to get you, alright?"

She nodded. I slid my hand around her neck under her hair and pulled her in for another kiss, because I couldn't resist her and I wouldn't see her again until tonight.

"I love you," I murmured against her lips, fully aware that she hadn't said it back to me yet. But somehow I wasn't worried.

"I know," she whispered back.

Right now, that was enough.

* * *

**A/N: There's a new livejournal entry up, not so much for this specific chapter but for the story in general. There are a lot of great pictures we found during our research that didn't belong anywhere else, so we put them up now. Great pictures, new tunes. spanglemaker9(dot)livejournal(dot)com/**

** Also, a big thank you to three lovely ladies this week! To WriteOnTime (she writes The Port Angeles Players and Breaking News) and Kassiah for their shout-out on The Fictionators, THANK YOU! http://www(dot)fictionators(dot)com**

**And to ciao_bella27 (author of Living Backwards), who pimped us out on The Little Known Ficster, YOU ROCK! http://thelittleknownficster(dot)blogspot(dot)com/?zx=3d07aaa291287ef7**

**If you've seen us rec'd anywhere, please let us know so we can give a proper thank you! Thanks for reading :)**


	17. Taking Leave of a Friend

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

**

* * *

  
**

Calling my parents was every bit as unpleasant as I thought it would be. My mother cried, my father yelled, and Alice held my hand, just like she promised she would.

"What in the blue blazes did you think you were doing, Isabella?" My father's voice thundered at me from more than 5,000 miles away.

"Helping a friend," I said stoically. "I had to make sure Rose was okay. What if she had been lost or hurt and I had just left her to fend for herself? She's practically a daughter to you!"

"There were other ways to go about it," he roared back. I could picture him so perfectly: his face was probably beet red, his mustache twitching angrily. "What if something had happened to you? A young woman alone, do they even speak English in that city?"

And on it went. At different points in our conversation he insisted that they would wire me money for an immediate trip home. It hadn't occurred to me to ask my parents for money: things were always tight growing up, and we never had money for anything extra. I was attending college on a scholarship. Last week it would have been a relief to know that help was so readily available, but when he suggested it I panicked. Home was within my grasp, and I ran in the opposite direction.

I told my parents that I knew it had been a mistake to run off without asking permission, and that I was going to pay my penance by earning my way home.

"What kind of a job do you think you're going to get?" my father asked incredulously. "You don't have a degree, and you don't speak French!"

I started to explain that I had already gotten a job at a café, but he started sputtering angrily almost as soon as the word "waitress" passed my lips.

"Yes, but—" I started, only to be interrupted. "But you—" He was impossible, ranting almost incomprehensibly. I rested my head against the wall with a dull thud.

Alice cleared her throat lightly, and I looked up. She smiled and held out a hand. I covered the receiver with my own and shook my head. "Alice, I really don't think that's a good idea. He's very upset right now."

"Give me the phone," she insisted in a loud whisper. "I'm great with parents. Trust me."

I gave her a skeptical glance, but she just stuck out her hand further. "Trust me," she said again.

"Dad?" I said, removing my hand from the receiver.

"Don't you _Dad_ me, young lady. When I get you home—"

"CHARLIE," I said, almost shouting. There was a pause as my father stopped yelling, probably in shock at the disrespectful tone I had just thrown at him. "My roommate Alice would like to speak with you."

"Your... your roommate?" He seemed surprised, so I took advantage of the silence and shoved the phone at her.

She winked, took the phone, and proceeded to charm the pants off my irate, taciturn father. She corroborated my story about living in a boarding house with other students from Rose's school without batting an eye, even though I had never gone into specifics about the story I had told my parents. She assured him that she wouldn't dream of leaving the house without a proper chaperone, and that she completely understood his concerns about safety and unsuitable "callers." After about five minutes, she twittered a "Goodbye, Mr. Swan!" and passed the handset back to me. To my complete shock, he was calm when he spoke again.

"That Alice girl sounds like she's got a good head on her shoulders," he said. "You listen to everything she says, do you hear me?"

My eyes widened and I stared at Alice in astonishment. Her smile grew.

"Of course," I said smoothly. He demanded my address and the phone number. Alice scribbled the number down for me and I read it off quickly, promising to call him again within the week.

After I hung up, I threw my arms around her neck and hung on for dear life.

"Thank you," I whispered.

She laughed delightedly and hugged me back. "What are friends for?"

I squeezed her a little tighter at that. Friends. I didn't have Rose anymore, and that hurt more than I could say, but I had Alice and a whole host of other people in my life now who cared about me. Edward, Esme, Carlisle, Emmett, Jasper. They couldn't replace Rose, but they could help me make it through our separation.

I was completely flustered when I woke up the next morning. True to my word, I had only gone to Edward's gig for a few hours, turning in early and making sure to set the little alarm clock next to my bed. I fluttered around the apartment, trying to eat, pick out the right clothes to wear for my first day on the job, and do my hair.

Alice laughed at me when I managed to slop half a cup of coffee down my pajama top.

"Breathe, Bella," she said. "You have to calm down. No one wants a waitress who's so jumpy she spills their food all over them."

In the end, I got out the door and to the café at half past ten. Alice teased me as I hurried out the door, but I had been raised by a man who valued punctuality above all other things.

"_If you're early, you're on time,"_ he'd say. _"If you're on time, you're late. And if you're late...well, don't ever be late."_

Monsieur Claud was standing in the exact spot he had occupied the day before, polishing glasses and overseeing the bustling café with a look of bored supremacy. He saw me as I picked my way through the tables near the sidewalk, walking right past the group of young American men I had been hired to cater to.

Squaring my shoulders and plastering a smile on my face, I approached Monsieur Claud.

"Bonjour," I said clearly, speaking slowly enough so that my tongue didn't stumble too badly over the unfamiliar syllables. "Je suis prête à commencer. Comment puis-je vous aider ?"

He arched an eyebrow at me and almost smiled. Then he started speaking in rapid, almost incomprehensible French, and my confidence plummeted again. "Très bien, mademoiselle. Finalement, vous êtes peut-être la fille qu'il faut pour ce travail. Suivez-moi."

He turned and walked away, his dress shoes clicking against the tiled floors. I scurried after him, catching a white apron that he tossed over his shoulder. I hoped he wasn't planning on speaking French to me all day, because I had only managed to memorize a few key phrases, and none of them were incredibly conversational in nature. For some reason, Edward didn't want to teach me any of those words.

I tied the apron around my waist and followed him through a set of double doors into a small, tidy kitchen. He pulled a folded piece of paper from a stack next to the cabinets.

"Memorize this," he said, giving me a stern look. I glanced at it briefly: it was a menu. Complete gibberish to me then, but I was sure with Alice and Edward's help I could learn it. "You have two weeks to show me that you can convince those American _hipsters_," he said the word with dripping distain, "to order more than a single cup of coffee each a day. You will also be learning French so that you can pick up other duties around the café."

I nodded my understanding and he turned again, calling to a girl who stood chatting with another man I assumed was a cook of some kind.

"Angelique," he called. The girl turned with a warm smile. "Viens par ici. C'est la petite nouvelle, l'Américaine. Elle ne parle pas français, tu vas devoir l'aider."

He turned back to me. "This is Angelique, she's our best waitress. Work with her, learn from her. Perhaps with her help you will also learn the language faster, non?"

I nodded again, giving Angelique a shaky smile. She beamed back at me.

"Nice to meet you," she said carefully, a thick accent tweaking the harder consonants and giving them an almost saucy edge. It reminded me of the way Esme spoke when she was excited, slipping closer to her native French in her haste to get her words out.

"Do you speak English?" I asked in surprise. She looked blankly at me for a second, then wrinkled her nose in concentration. After a few beats, she raised her hands up, spaced a short distance apart.

"Very little," she said. "Hello, goodbye. Nice to meet you."

I smiled and stuck out my hand. "Nice to meet you, too."

She shook my hand and then turned back to the cook, who was watching our exchange with evident curiosity. "Nous parlerons plus tard, Benjamin. Bon appétit."

The two of us walked back out into the café, which was slightly fuller than it had been when I arrived just twenty minutes before. Angelique immediately started making the rounds, speaking to customers comfortably and smiling as she went. I watched her for a few minutes before I heard Monsieur Claud clear his throat. I whirled around. He was looking at me with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"Well, mademoiselle? Let us see you work your charms on the American layabouts."

He handed me a small pad of paper and a tiny pencil, then made a sweeping gesture with his hand. I clutched the pad and pencil in one hand and my menu in the other and walked boldly toward the tables near the sidewalk.

There were three of them, young men close to my age who looked generally unwashed and ragged, in a way that I supposed they thought was rakish and charming. Their hair was overgrown, and they sported scruffy beards and jaunty berets. I had a momentary flashback to the pompous philosopher I met the very first time I visited Edward's house.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," I said, stopping at their table with a brilliant smile. They looked up from their conversation in almost comical shock.

"Well, well, what have we here?" the man closest to me said. He gave me a slow once-over and ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair. "Did old Pierre finally hire an ex-pat? A pretty one, too."

My smile was frozen as I considered how to answer him. Before I could figure it out, another one of the men spoke up.

"Michael, she's clearly much too pretty for you." The second man tossed his head, carelessly flicking his black hair out of his eyes and raising an eyebrow at me. "I'm sure she'd rather speak to a real man, wouldn't you, ma minette?"

"Let me know when one gets here, will you?" I asked, finally finding my voice. I was surprised at the teasing and flirtatious tone that came out. I sounded like Alice. They looked at me in momentary shock. "In the mean time, what can I get you boys? Another cup of coffee? A baguette? Maybe a croissant?"

The third man, who looked a little more well-groomed than his compatriots, winked at me and put out a hand. "Well, I suppose I can order something if you can promise us we'll see your smiling face back out here on a regular basis."

I winked back, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the gesture but not wanting to appear cold, and handed him the menu, then turned to the other two. "Now, how about some more coffee for you two?"

By the end of the afternoon, I had gotten multiple small orders from the Americans, and Monsieur Claud seemed at least mildly impressed. None of them had ordered what amounted to a full meal, but I gathered that even getting them to pay the nominal fee for a refill on their coffee was a step up from the average day.

Angelique and I had several stilted attempts at conversation throughout the day, although it often took us several tries to get our points across. We stuttered through our interactions, using exaggerated gestures and pointing to objects to communicate. Despite that, I never got the feeling that she was losing her patience with me. It almost seemed like we were playing a game, trading words and phrases in our native languages and giggling like small children who had discovered a new toy.

When Edward came by around seven that evening, I was standing near my new American friends, chatting freely and pouring coffee. They were trying to convince me that they were serious writers, revolutionary types who were not to be trifled with. Their claims were offset by the ridiculous lines they threw at me all day, flirting outrageously and using every opportunity they found to wink, touch my hand, or stare shamelessly. As time wore on, I was increasingly amused by their behavior.

I was laughing at something Eric, the black-haired man, had said to me when I felt a strong arm wrap around my waist. I nearly dropped the coffee urn in surprise. Looking up, I saw Edward's face, contorted in a sour frown.

"Edward," I gasped, tugging away from his grasp and smiling. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Evidently," he said, still frowning. He glowered over at the Americans, who were looking back at him in an almost calculating manner.

"Excuse me, Eric, Michael, Tyler," I said to them, pulling Edward inside and away from them. Monsieur Claud was in his customary spot by the bar, polishing his seemingly endless supply of glasses. I wondered if he simply wiped them down over and over again as an excuse to stand around and survey his domain.

"Do you need me any more today, monsieur?" I asked politely, still holding Edward's hand tightly.

His eyes flickered up to Edward, and he smirked. "Ah to be young again," he said. "Go ahead, Mademoiselle Bella, you did well today. Demain à la même heure, s'il vous plaît."

"Oui," I responded. "Je comprends."

Edward hooked his arm back around my waist and we walked back outside, passing the Americans again. I waved cheerily, and they called back to me.

"Goodnight, my love," Michael called. "Until we meet again!"

Their catcalls faded into the distance behind us, and Edward heaved a loud sigh as we made our way toward my apartment.

I looked up at him. "What's wrong? Bad day?"

He took my free hand in his and squeezed my waist as we walked. "Just long," he sighed. "I missed you. It doesn't seem fair that those blokes got to spend all day talking with you and listening to you laugh."

I giggled a little at his sullen tone, then stopped when I realized he was serious. I stopped walking and tugged his hand. He looked down at me, eyebrows raised.

"Edward Cullen," I said, struggling to keep my face straight. "Are you jealous?"

His frown deepened and I laughed, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "You are! You're jealous of those ridiculous boys."

I shook my head and started walking again, pulling him behind me. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about," I said with another giggle.

"Is that so?" His frown was mostly gone, but his face still held a little bit of reserved concern.

"Of course," I said, more seriously this time. "Those boys don't know me, Edward. They know that I have a nice smile and I speak English and I'm willing to listen to them spout ridiculous philosophy while they flirt with me." We got to my door and I unlocked it, holding it open so that he would follow me.

"But they don't know why I'm in Paris, or anything about where I come from or who I am. You know me." A small smile played across his face as the lift chugged upwards to my floor.

"Is that the only reason?" he said, his voice husky and low. "What else don't they know that I do?"

I laughed, but he simply waited. The jealousy was cute, if I was being completely honest with myself, so I indulged him. I drummed a finger against my chin and sighed exaggeratedly.

"Well, I suppose you could say that you know how to make my heart pound." I peeked up at him and saw his smile widen slightly. The doors opened and we walked toward my door, hands still linked.

The apartment was quiet, so I knew Alice was probably still at work. Edward sat down on the armchair in the living room and pulled me into his lap, wrapping his arms securely around me. I leaned my face into his neck and closed my eyes.

"I know other things," he said softly, running his index finger from the tip of my nose, down past my lips and to the tip of my chin. "I know what you look like when you're sitting in the sun, writing in those notebooks of yours. I know what you look like when you're lost in a story, and when you're watching me but don't want me to know."

I felt my cheeks flush, and I turned into his chest to hide it. After a moment, he spoke again.

"I know what you look like when you wake up in the morning, crinkled from sleep and absolutely beautiful. I know what you look like when you're sad." He paused and leaned back, pulling my face from his chest. He stared into my eyes for a moment, then kissed my eyelids. "I know how to make you smile again."

My heart was pounding so hard that I was surprised he couldn't hear it. The moment felt impossibly intimate. We had transitioned from playful teasing into something... _more_. Once again, Edward was declaring himself to me, telling me how much he cared, showing me with gentle touches and sweet kisses. And once again, I had no idea what to tell him.

"I know that you're brave," he whispered, now running his nose down the shell of my ear. I shivered and made an incoherent little sound. "I know you're smart, and loyal, and _mine_."

Unable to stand it anymore, I pulled his face down, molding my lips to his and trying to convey every confusing feeling that swirled in my heart. He responded immediately, shifting me so that my legs were across the arms of the chair and his hands were splayed securely across my back. My hands wove into his soft hair, and he groaned indistinctly. The sound ran a thrill through me, and I pulled him closer still.

When it felt like I wasn't going to be able to go another second without a breath, he pulled away and started kissing my neck, leaving hot, wet spots down toward my shoulder. I was gasping and whimpering, unable to even feel embarrassed about the needy sounds I was making. I was lost in a pleasant burn, my skin hot and tingling. My world shrank to the man whose lips and hands were running wild over my skin.

One of those hands was still clutching my hip, but the other one was making a circuit up my side, across my shoulders, and down again. He touched my stomach lightly, then, ever-so-slowly, ran his palm up my front until it hovered over my breast.

I opened my eyes and found him staring at me, pupils dilated and panting as if he had just run a race. The look of indecision in his eyes was too much to bear. _I_ had done this to him, with my erratic reactions and my mixed signals. No more. I could give him this. I wanted to give him this. And I wanted it for myself.

Smiling softly, I placed my hand over his, pushing it gently down until it sat cupped, right on top of my pounding heart.

"Yours," I said simply. He beamed at me, and lowered his lips for another searing kiss. His hands moved more confidently now, making soft, experimental squeezes and strokes. I retightened my grip on his hair and was just about to shift into a more comfortable position when the phone rang, shrill and jarring. I pulled away abruptly, startled out of my peaceful Edward-bubble by the noise. He dropped his hands immediately, and for a second we sat, stiff as pokers, frozen on the armchair.

Then the phone rang again, and I stood. "I'd better get that," I said quietly. He nodded and ran a hand distractedly through his hair.

I picked up the receiver mid-ring. "Allô?"

There was a short pause, and then I heard a familiar and completely unexpected voice. "Hello... Bella?"

"Jacob?" I asked. My voice sounded shrill and confused in my ears. I looked toward Edward almost unconsciously. He was staring at me with a weird look on his face. I couldn't quite identify the emotion there, and I was so thrown by Jacob's voice that I wasn't fully ready to try and figure out Edward at that moment. I turned away.

"Jacob, how did you get this number?"

"I spoke to Charlie last night," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You had us worried sick, Bella. What were you thinking?"

"I've already explained myself to my parents, Jake," I sighed. Behind me, I heard Edward get up and walk to the balcony door. He slipped out, closing the door behind him. "Why are you calling?"

"Why?" He sounded confused. "Bella, you ran away from school, from home, without a word to anybody. You're supposed to graduate and move back home in just a couple of months, and instead you're gallivanting off in Europe?"

I sighed and rubbed my temple absently. "Look, I'm sorry I just took off without saying anything, but—"

"Hey, it's okay," he said quickly. "You made a mistake, you weren't thinking. People do stupid things sometimes. The point is, you need to come home. Let Charlie send you the money and just come home. You don't even have to go back to school if you don't want to. We'll figure it out together."

"Stupid?" I wasn't sure which part of his speech to react to first, so I just went with my gut. "What are you talking about?"

"Sweetheart, I talked to your parents. They told me why you left and you have to admit, it was a little foolish. I mean, Rose didn't even bother writing to you for months. Running off by yourself to save someone who you didn't even know needed saving? It was stupid. The point is I forgive you. Just come home, we can put all this behind us."

"You ... you forgive me?" I bristled. "I didn't ask for your forgiveness. I've met incredible people here, and I'm not sorry I came looking for Rose. What kind of a friend would I have been if I just left her to fend for herself? What kind of a woman would that make me?"

"One who knew her limits," he said calmly. "Bella, you're a girl from Forks. You don't belong in Paris. You belong here with me. What about all our plans?"

"Who are you to tell me where I do and don't belong?" I snapped, more than a little angry. A couple of months ago everything he said would have made sense, but now it just enraged me. Maybe it was that my journey had made me realize my own strength, or maybe it was that spending time with Alice and Edward had given me the courage to realize that my life at home was boring and, if I wasn't unhappy, then I was certainly unsatisfied. I didn't want that life anymore.

"Why are you so mad?" he asked, sounding a little annoyed himself. "We've talked about this. I was willing to wait for you to go to school, because I knew how much you wanted it, but I'm done waiting now. You're going to come home and we're going to move on with our lives. We can talk about you finishing school when you get back."

His tone indicated that he thought his decision would be final. And in another life, it would have been. But I heard his words and saw my mother shrinking into the background of her own life, all for the love of a man who didn't know how to give her the kind of space she needed to live. Everything he had ever offered me suddenly seemed like a cage. A nice cage, and a comfortable one, but one I was no longer willing to pretend I wanted.

"You don't have any say in this, Jacob. I don't know why you think you do. You haven't been particularly attentive these last several years, beyond taking me out when I'm home and reminding me that you expect me to come back to you. That's not what I want." I considered telling him about Edward, but I knew that information would get back to my parents, and I wasn't ready for that yet. "I'm doing this my way. I've gotten a job at a café, and I have a nice place to live. When I make enough money to come home, _if_ I come home, we can talk. But I don't think you should wait for me, Jake. We're not good together."

My voice shook a little at the end, and I felt unwanted tears prick at the corners of my eyes. He was one of my best friends, despite the fact that I wasn't in love with him, and this was starting to feel a lot like goodbye. I heard him inhale sharply.

"We're... what do you mean we're not good together? We've always been together."

"That's just it," I said, softer now. "We haven't been together, Jake. Not for a long time. I think it's time we realized that and moved on. We want different things."

I turned around then, looking for the man who had eclipsed everyone and everything in my life in such a short period of time. Edward was leaning against the railing of the balcony, cigarette in hand, glaring down at the courtyard below. I couldn't help but feel like it was my fault he had that look on his face, and I would do anything to wipe it away.

"I have to go now, Jake. Please don't call again. If you want to know how I'm doing, you can ask my parents, I'll be keeping them updated. I'm sorry this is the way things had to end, but I think we're better off apart."

"Bella, just... wait, okay? Don't go. What do you want? Tell me what you want, you can have it."

His voice was shaking now, and the burning in my eyes got worse.

"You can't give me what I want. I'm so sorry." I started to cry in earnest then. "I never meant to hurt you. Take care, Jake. Goodbye."

"I love you, Bella. Don't hang up."

Edward turned, and his eyes zeroed in on the tears streaking down my cheeks and my quivering chin. He stubbed his cigarette out and walked back into the apartment, bringing with him the faint smell of tobacco.

"Goodbye."

I set the receiver back on the hook just as he reached me, pulling me into his arms. I grabbed onto him and buried my face in his shirt, sniffling slightly.

"Are you okay, love?" he asked.

I nodded but didn't answer, taking huge gulps of air in an attempt to stop my tears. We stood there for several quiet moments before I spoke.

"I told him I wasn't coming back to him," I whispered. "It's over." He stiffened slightly, then started to rub my back gently.

"And that's... good?" The uncertainty in his voice killed me.

"It was hard, but it was right." I pulled away so I could see his face. He smiled and ran his thumbs under my eyes, wiping my tears dry. "This is where I want to be right now."

*****

I settled into a steady routine after that first day at the café. Every morning I went shopping at the market, enjoying the spring sunshine first thing in the morning. Most days Edward was waiting for me outside my door when I left, and we would go together. My afternoons were spent at the café, joking with the American boys and learning French from Angelique. By the end of the first week, we were able to carry on basic conversations, despite the fact that we were still using lots of gestures and pantomime.

Edward met me at the end of my shift, generally glaring at Eric, Michael, and Tyler as we left. They knew that I was seeing "the British chap," as they called him, and enjoyed egging him on every evening. I tried to tell him they were only kidding, but he insisted that I didn't understand their true motives. Most of those conversations only ended when I kissed him.

It made me uneasy to go about my business knowing that Rose was so close. Back home, we never went a day without seeing each other. We were roommates in college, so we spent every morning and night together when we were in Seattle. And yet here we were, less than a mile apart, and she had ordered me away. Some days that was very hard to take.

Despite the Rose-shaped hole in my life, though, everything else felt _right_ for the first time. Evenings were spent out with Alice or Edward, or, more often than not, at one of Esme's parties. After those first couple of gatherings, it became easier to venture out into the house and mingle with the guests. Most of the time Edward was with me, but if he wasn't I didn't mind. I no longer felt like a fish out of water. Alice took every opportunity to take credit for my "transformation."

"I knew the second I saw you standing there in that ridiculous cotton blouse that you were going places," she would say. "Batting those Bambi eyes like a lost little girl. Now look at you!"

I found the "lost little girl" comment more than a little insulting, but remembering how I felt on that first day in Paris, I couldn't say it was inaccurate. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Emmett was usually around to remind the group about how I had managed to get into two bar fights in two nights and mixed with drug dealers and thugs immediately after that. Edward didn't think it was funny, but Emmett almost always earned a laugh or two with those stories.

I was spending a rare evening at home one Thursday night. Edward was playing at Le Tabou, but I had a headache and didn't feel like sitting in the smoke for hours. Alice had gone to Jasper's place, and I was curled up with one of my notebooks on the armchair. I had been writing more and more frequently, taking in details of life around me and trying to weave something coherent from them. I had almost finished sketching out a character who I had been thinking about for days when the front door slammed open suddenly.

I dropped my pencil and looked up. Alice stood in the doorway, dripping wet and crying. I hadn't even noticed that it was raining. Her eyes were red and her shoulders were shaking. Tossing my notebook to the side, I jumped up and ran forward, throwing one arm around her shoulders and kicking the door closed with my toe.

"Alice honey, what's wrong?"

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around me, squeezing my waist until I was gasping for breath. I steered her toward the bathroom, hoping to get her dried off before she got sick.

"What happened, sweetie?" I asked softly. "Where's Jasper?"

At the sound of his name, fresh tears streamed out of her eyes. She wasn't making any noise, just shaking and shuddering as her eyes streamed. I sat her down on the toilet and grabbed the biggest, fluffiest towel I could find.

"Jasper," she said finally, her voice coming with a whimper. "Oh God."

"Did he hurt you?" I asked, barely restraining my tone. I didn't want to make accusations, but leaving Rose behind with Royce had been nearly impossible, and if Jasper had done something to Alice I wasn't going to stand for it.

"No," she said shakily. "Nothing like that. Well, he yelled, but Bella, he had a good reason. God, the things that have happened to that man."

"You're not making any sense," I said, patting her hair dry and wrapping the towel around her shoulders. "Why don't you go get into something warm and I'll make you something hot to drink."

She shuddered and stood, shaking her head slightly. "I didn't know," she whispered. "I don't know how to help him."

I nodded, even though I didn't understand. Clearly something horrible had happened, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out what it was.

"It was just a helmet," she continued, tottering unsteadily toward her bedroom. It was unnerving to see my put-together, confident friend reduced to stutters and tears. "An army helmet. I had never seen anything from his time with the army before."

At my look of confusion, she elaborated. "He was a combat reporter. He always said he got rid of everything when the war ended. I didn't know," she said again.

"Alice, what happened?" I repeated.

She shook her head and walked into her bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her. I stared at the back of her door for a few seconds, debating whether to follow her or follow through with my promise of a hot drink. In the end I chose the drink, starting a pot of coffee and standing in the kitchen alone, rubbing my eyes and trying to piece together a story that made sense.

The coffee was almost finished when she came out, dry and still red eyed, but at least not crying anymore. She sat silently at the table, and I joined her, taking her hand without a word.

"I figured he got the scars from something during the war," she started abruptly, her voice slightly scratchy. "Something daring or heroic, you know?" She turned to me and stared pleadingly. I nodded.

"He got them in a bar fight," she said with a shudder. "About a month after the armistice. He was so drunk he didn't notice that he had glass shards in his face. He couldn't feel them."

Her face screwed up a little and I stared in shock. "I don't blame him, Bella. If I had gone through that, if I had seen..." She started crying again, noisily this time. "I don't know how to help him and he won't let me try."

I rubbed slow circles in her back as she cried. "It'll be okay," I murmured, stroking her hair with my other hand. "It'll all work out."

"He was at the Battle of the Bulge," she said, hiccupping a little through her tears. "There was a... a massacre. At least a hundred men, all dead. His photographer, the best friend he had... He... he watched them die. Thousands more in battle, everyone dying, all dead. I didn't know, Bella. I don't know how to help him." She was almost hysterical in her grief, and I didn't know how to respond. Just listening to her describe it was making me sick to my stomach.

"I pulled out the helmet," she said. "I was curious, I didn't know. It was in his chest of drawers. I was looking for a spare shirt. He..." But she put her head down on her arms, apparently unable to say any more.

A series of booming knocks suddenly sounded at the front door. "Alice," Jasper yelled. "God damn it, Alice."

"Oh no, you don't," I muttered, standing up and squeezing her shoulder. "You stay right here," I said sternly. She nodded, but stared at the door like she could already see him on the other side.

I made sure the chain was secure before pulling the door open just a crack.

"What do you want, Jasper?" I barked, trying to puff myself up as tall as I could go.

He was a mess. His shaggy blond hair stuck out at odd angles, soaking wet from the rain, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"I have to talk to Alice," he insisted loudly, pushing on the door. It didn't budge, of course, but that didn't stop him from pushing harder. "Alice!"

"Keep your voice down," I hissed. "She showed up here completely shaken and in tears about forty-five minutes ago, sobbing about how you yelled at her. That's not the Alice I know. I don't know what you said, but I am absolutely not letting you in here so you can keep yelling."

"Alice!" he yelled again, completely ignoring me. "Alice, come out here!"

"She's not coming out here," I insisted. "And you're certainly not getting in this apartment until you calm down. If you don't stop yelling I will call the police and have you removed."

He leaned into the small opening, still putting all his weight on the door. He smelled faintly of alcohol.

"Have you been _drinking_?" I asked, backing up slightly.

"I tried," he answered gruffly. "God knows I tried. But I couldn't... knowing she was so ... just let me in. Damn it, Bella, unlock this door."

His voice was quieter now, but it had taken on a desperate edge. I was about to tell him no again when I felt Alice tug on my elbow.

"Let him in," she said. She wasn't crying, and her face was blank.

"Alice," I said in my most soothing tone. "I don't think that's a good idea. I don't know what happened tonight but—"

"If you don't let him in, I'm going to," she said, interrupting me.

I stared at her, trying to decide if she was serious. She started to push past me, and I stopped her.

"Okay, just hold on a second." I closed the door with a click and removed the chain. Almost immediately, Jasper was pushing through, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace, his face twisted in a painful grimace.

"God damn you, Alice Brandon," he hissed into her hair. "Why the hell did you find me?"

She didn't answer, just held on as if her life depended on it. I backed away, but didn't leave the room. I was uneasy leaving the two of them alone the way things stood.

"I was going to drink myself under the table," he said to her hair, still clinging to her tightly. "I went to my favorite nightclub and ordered a whole bottle of whiskey. I was going to drink until I forgot. Damn it Alice, I couldn't forget you. I don't want to. I don't know what to do without you. How the hell did this happen?"

"I'm sorry," she said finally, pulling away from his jacket and staring up at him with watery gray eyes. "I didn't mean to—"

"Shhhh," he said, pulling her back into his chest with the closest thing to a tender expression I had ever seen on his face. "You didn't do anything. It's not your fault I'm a God damned mess. It's not your fault I'm broken."

She pulled away again and grasped the sides of his face in her hands, stretching up on tiptoes so her eyes reached his chin. "You're not broken," she said fiercely. "I love you, Jasper Whitlock. You're perfect, scars and all."

He ducked down, resting his forehead against hers and staring into her eyes. The moment had turned uncomfortably intimate, so I backed away slowly, giving them space as I crept back into my room. I left the door ajar, just in case things fell apart again.

There were quiet murmurs, then the soft sounds of footsteps in the hall when they went to bed. I listened with a heavy heart, unable to even begin to imagine all that Jasper had seen and done. Suddenly the abstract idea of war seemed all too real. Jasper, a non-combatant, had been completely destroyed by his experiences. I wondered what he was like before the war. Did he laugh often, did he enjoy a good joke? I had only seen a genuine smile on the man's face a handful of times in our short friendship, and then only when Alice was around. Did he have a girl back home? Why was he still in Europe? Where was his family, where was his home?

I closed my eyes and lay back on my pillows as my thoughts shifted from the man in the bedroom next door to another man: one with green eyes and a breathtaking smile. I knew he had his own demons, his own secrets. He didn't wear his scars on his skin, but I was certain they were there, just waiting to be revealed. I knew he was from London, and that the city had sustained heavy casualties during the war. Why did he blame himself for Kate's death, and why did he think it was his responsibility to get her out of the city? Most importantly, why had he left his family there? What was the source of the rift between them?

The questions swirled in my head, making sleep almost impossible. I had let the subject drop after that disastrous afternoon when I found Rose, but I knew we couldn't keep putting it off. We would have to talk. Soon.

* * *

**Translations:**

Je suis prête à commencer. Comment puis-je vous aider? _I'm ready to begin. How can I help you?_

Très bien, mademoiselle. Finalement, vous êtes peut-être la fille qu'il faut pour ce travail. Suivez-moi. _Very good, miss. You might be the right girl for the job after all. Follow me._

Viens par ici. C'est la petite nouvelle, l'Américaine. Elle ne parle pas français, tu vas devoir l'aider. _Come here. This is the new girl, the American. She doesn't speak French, you will have to help her._

Nous parlerons plus tard, Benjamin. Bon appétit. _We'll talk later, Benjamin. Enjoy your meal._

ma minette: _my pussycat._

Demain à la même heure, s'il vous plaît. _The same time tomorrow, please._

Je comprends. _I understand._

**A/N: Thanks for reading, reviewing, alerting, favoriting, and tweeting :) **


	18. You and the Night and the Music

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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I'd never been an early riser in the past. Most nights I was out late at Le Tabou or up late painting, and I generally slept away most of the morning. But these days it was my favorite time of day, because I spent it alone with Bella. She was in the habit of going to the market every morning before her shift at the café, so I took to getting up early and meeting her at her place so I could accompany her. It was often the only time I spent alone with her all day. She worked all afternoon at the café, I worked all night at Le Tabou. If I wasn't there, then we were at home, caught up in one of Esme's shindigs, and there was no way to find time alone at one of those. So our morning strolls through the market became our time.

Today was even better because it was Bella's day off from the café, so I wouldn't have to relinquish her to her apron and her notepad and that trio of arrogant little prats that flirted with her all damned day. I really hated those blokes. But I tried to put the three of them and their leering grins and risqué banter out of my mind so I could enjoy today.

The weather was glorious as April faded into May. The trees were fully green, the air was warm, and people were out in droves, having finally shed their winter coats. Bella was walking slowly beside me, her basket swinging from one arm, her other arm hooked around my elbow. She was leaning slightly into my arm as we strolled slowly towards the market. Neither one of us was in much of a hurry to get there; we were too busy enjoying each other. She was wearing a blue cotton dress with a full swinging skirt that looked spectacular on her and the light breeze was blowing wisps of her hair across her face. I knew my perception was skewed, but I swear she looked more beautiful every single time that I saw her.

She was talking as we walked, filling me in on the latest dramatic dust-up between Jasper and Alice. Apparently there'd been some sort of fight and Alice had come home soaked and weeping, followed quickly by a drunk and shouting Jasper. I thought for sure that Bella would be disapproving and angry at Jasper, but surprisingly she felt sorry for him.

"Bella," I said, "I can't believe you let him in. It sounds like he was completely out of line."

"Alice wanted to talk to him. And besides, you should have seen him, Edward. He was just so…_broken_. I felt terrible for him. I admit, he hasn't always been my favorite person and I never could understand what Alice saw in him. But if you'd seen him that night…I don't know. It's obvious that he really cares about her in his own strange way. He just has all these issues from his past that he's having a hard time dealing with."

"Hm. So Alice took him back? They're okay now?"

"They seem to be. She loves him. She knows he's got problems, but she wants to help him deal with them." Bella paused for a moment, her eyes watching people stroll by us in the other direction. "You know," she began again, "it got me to thinking."

"About what?"

"You."

"Me? You're comparing me to _Jasper?_ Bella, I'd never treat you like that."

"No, I know that. Just…well, I know you've got some things in your past that bother you. What happened in London. Your family. You haven't spoken to your parents in five years, Edward. I just…I'd like to help you, if I can."

I sighed and shook my head. "I don't know how you can," I finally said.

"I could start by listening. Will you tell me what happened with your family?"

"Today? Right now?"

"Why not now?"

I groaned and pulled her arm tighter to my side. "I'm just enjoying this incredible morning with you and I don't want to think about all that stuff."

"Edward," her voice was soft, but the tone was one of warning, "just because you don't talk about it doesn't mean it goes away. I don't want to see you fall apart on me some night like Jasper did."

She was looking up at me, her eyes full of concern, and I knew I couldn't push her off. I sighed heavily and raked my free hand through my hair.

"Okay, what do you want to know?"

"What happened with your parents? Why don't you talk to them?"

"It's a long story. I don't even know where to start."

"At the beginning. What are they like?"

Oddly, once I thought back to my parents when I was growing up, thought of them _before_, the story felt clearer in my head, so I just started talking.

"My parents are a bit…well, my father's a barrister. Very proper. We weren't wealthy, exactly, but I never wanted for anything growing up. We had a nice house in London, a cottage in the countryside. They're both very _proud_ of what they've achieved and the standing of the family. They had very specific expectations for me and my life and I sometimes disappointed them."

"In what way?" Bella prompted softly.

I smiled and ducked my head. "The company I kept."

"Do you mean Kate?"

"Yes. Kate and I grew up together. Her family lived in the next block and we were the only children our age in the neighborhood, so we were playmates. Kate's family, they weren't poor, but they certainly didn't live like us. My parents didn't approve, but we were just children, playmates, so my mother let it be.

"During the Blitz when the bombing got really bad in London, my father moved my mother and me to our country house. I was thirteen. I actually _missed_ Kate so I wrote her letters, and she wrote to me, too. We stayed in the country for about a year. But eventually my mother decided she missed London and there hadn't been any bombings in a long time, so my father decided it was safe enough and he brought us back. I was really happy to see Kate again, but when I did, things were different."

"Different how?"

I shot her a meaningful look out of the corner of my eye. "We were older."

Comprehension dawned on Bella's face. "Ah…I see."

"So…yeah. It was weird for a little while. We couldn't really go back to being friends like we'd been when we were kids, but we couldn't figure out what else to do. It took me forever just to realize that I felt like that about her. And then it took me forever to actually do something about it…I'm sorry, Bella. I shouldn't be telling you this stuff."

She rolled her eyes at me. "It's _exactly_ what you should be telling me, Edward. Keep going."

I sighed, but she just tugged on my arm in encouragement.

"Alright, then. We started going out when we were fifteen, and things were great for about a year."

"Did you love her?"

Bella's question surprised me, and I had to think about it for a minute, because I honestly didn't know the answer anymore.

"I don't know. At the time I thought I did, so I guess so. But I was fifteen. What did I really know, right?"

"So what happened next?"

I winced, because now I was to the hard part, the part I'd never told anybody, not even Carlisle when I turned up on his doorstep five years ago.

"In January of '44, the Germans started bombing London again. My mother was terrified, so my father decided to pack us up again and move to the country house. I told them I wanted to bring Kate. I couldn't just _leave _her there. My father refused. He made some big speech about how her place was with her family wherever they were. But that had nothing to do with it. They never approved of her, they didn't think she was good enough for me. I think they hoped that if they made me leave her in London, that we'd get tired of each other, grow apart."

"And that didn't happen?"

"No. Well…God, I've never said this to anyone…I just…"

"It's okay, Edward. You can tell me anything." Bella's voice was soft and soothing, but I couldn't look at her if I was going to get through this.

"Before I left I swore to her that I'd come back to her. She made me promise that I would. I was faithful to her while I was in Devonshire. We wrote letters. But…before I left London, we'd started quarrelling all the time.

"Quarrelling about what?" Bella asked gently.

"Everything. At least that's how it seemed. She was jealous of every girl I so much as said hello to. She was always accusing me of getting tired of her, of wanting to change her. None of it was remotely true, but when she got like that, nothing I said made any difference. And part of it was me. I told you my parents didn't approve of her. Sometimes I think maybe the more they tried to convince me to let her go, the harder I held on. I have no idea what would have happened, how things might have turned out if…But I guess it doesn't matter. I was in the country for five months. I fought with my parents all the time about Kate, I still wanted to bring her out. In early June we heard on the radio that there was another bombing run and I couldn't take it anymore. I ran away, took the train back to London. If I couldn't bring her out to the countryside, at least I could be with her there in London."

I cleared my throat against the sudden tightening, the surge of unexpected emotion I felt as I recounted those days. I felt Bella squeeze my arm again.

"I got back to our neighborhood and it was gone."

Bella was silent for a minute. "What was gone?"

"Our neighborhood. The houses. I lived there all my life and I couldn't find my own house, or Kate's. It was just rubble and dirt and piles and craters. Hell…I spent three days there, digging, trying to find something, _anything_. Finally one of our neighbors saw me and helped me figure out which house had been hers, but he didn't know anything. He didn't know if she'd been there or if they'd left."

"Oh God, Edward. I'm so sorry."

I turned to look at her face then, and she had tears in her eyes.

"Hey, now," I murmured, reaching up to stroke her cheek. "I told you, it was a long time ago. I'm over that part."

"I'm so sorry that you went through that, though. That you had to see it."

"Plenty of people went through much worse than me."

"It doesn't matter, Edward. You were just sixteen."

"I turned seventeen in London."

"So you stayed there after that?"

"For a little while. I stayed with a friend from school. In my gut, I knew Kate was gone, but I felt like I had to look. I had to be sure. I owed her that much after I left her there."

"Edward…"

"I _did_, though, Bella. If I'd come sooner, or if I'd stood up to my father, she might be alive."

Bella sighed, but didn't try to force it. "How long did you stay?"

"A few months. After a month or so the War Department confirmed that she'd been in the house with her whole family when the bomb hit. So I had my answer, but it didn't help. I didn't know what to do with myself. Then there was another bombing run. I was fine, nowhere near it, but there was no way to get word to the countryside. My dad came to London to track me down. He said my mother was a nervous wreck without me. She was terrified that if I stayed in London I'd be killed in the war. I felt so guilty that I went back with him. But I was so angry. I couldn't even look at him. I stayed for five months, but as soon as the war ended and I knew I could get out of the country, I took off. I just needed to get away from them. So I showed up on Carlisle's doorstep, threw myself on his mercy, and he took me in, no questions asked."

I stopped, absolutely spent.

"And that was the last time you spoke to them?"

I nodded. "My mother writes letters, every couple of weeks."

"She misses you. I know you feel they made mistakes. But maybe they do, too. You'll never know until you talk to them."

I shook my head. "I don't know, Bella. It's been so long…I don't even know what I'd say. I don't think I could do it."

"Hey, I called my _dad_. And he's a cop! If I can do that, you can at least call your mother and let her know you're alive!"

Somehow, after all that, when I just let her see into the darkest part of myself, she managed to make me laugh. I didn't know it was possible. "Okay, okay," I held up my hand in defense. "I'll think about it, alright?"

"I guess that's a start," she conceded with a smile before she leaned up on tiptoe and kissed my cheek. And suddenly everything felt okay.

We'd made it to the market finally, and I held Bella's basket as she hunted and made her purchases. It gave me a little time to reflect on everything I'd told her. I so rarely revisited those days in my head, and now that I had, I found that the raw emotions had dulled quite a bit in the intervening years. I remembered the rage I'd felt towards my father then, but I couldn't seem to find that same level of anger for him anymore. I was still mad, but for the first time, I felt like I might be willing to talk to him and see what he had to say for himself. Maybe not right away, but eventually.

The wind picked up and I raised my head, noticing that during our long, slow walk to the market, the sky had turned overcast and threatened rain.

"Hey, Bella, look at the weather."

She looked at the sky and made a face. "Oh, it's going to rain! And it was so beautiful this morning."

Rain…I got an idea.

"Bella, can I ask you for a favor tonight?"

*****

"Like this?" Bella turned away from me, holding Alice's red umbrella straight up over her head.

"No, lean it back like this," I tugged on the umbrella handle until it was resting on her shoulder, just like it had been the first night I saw her. The minute I knew it would rain tonight and we were both free, I knew I wanted to bring her out here to work on the painting. That, of course, required me to actually show her the painting I'd been working on when I saw her, which I'd never gotten around to doing before now. She'd been so excited when she saw it and readily agreed to get Alice's coat and umbrella and pose for me in the park. But that was before she was actually out in the park in the rain. I think now that she was standing in the mist, getting blown by the wind off the river, she was having second thoughts.

She wasn't complaining, though, so I adjusted her pose and hurried back to my canvas to get what I could down in paint. There was a problem, however. Having her here in front of me, looking just the same as she had that night when she was such a mystery to me, but knowing that now she was _mine_, was becoming extremely distracting. I was painting, but my mind kept wandering, to how my hands felt gripping her waist, how her mouth felt when I was kissing her…

Bella was holding her pose, but she was talking to me over her shoulder, asking me questions about the painting, why I'd picked the spot, what I liked about it. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. She was telling me how the park had inexplicably reminded her of her hometown that night and I set my brush down and quietly slipped up behind her. I was nearly flush to her back when I reached my arms around her waist. She gasped in surprise and turned in my arms to face me.

"Sorry," I murmured with a smile, "I needed a little break."

She smiled back as I leaned in to kiss her. A crack of thunder rolled ominously overhead.

"Uh-oh," she said. "It's going to storm."

"Don't worry about it," I whispered, dipping my head to kiss the side of her neck, "It will be a while before it starts."

And with that, the sky abruptly opened up and rain fell on us in torrents. Bella squealed and shifted her umbrella up to protect us. The wind gusted sharply and flipped it nearly out of her hands. As she struggled to hang onto it, the umbrella flipped inside out. I cursed and helped her hang onto it while trying to flip it back simultaneously. By the time we got the umbrella fixed, we were both hopelessly soaked.

Bella was laughing, her hair hanging limply around her face and soon I was laughing, too. The whole time the rain continued to pound and the umbrella was doing almost nothing to keep us dry.

"Oh, bloody hell! Let's get back inside and dry off!" I shouted over the wind. I darted over to my easel and threw everything back in my bag as quickly as possible before grabbing Bella's hand and hurrying us out of the park. We practically ran through the streets to Esme's house. Bella was still laughing uncontrollably and the rain continued to fall, soaking us thoroughly.

The front door was slightly ajar and the lights were on when we reached Esme's. We burst into the entryway into the middle of a cluster of startled party guests. We stopped and took in their stunned faces, realizing how we must look to them, dripping wet and panting, before we both fell into helpless laughter again. Bella took my hand and practically sprinted up the stairs. I followed in her wake and we left splatters and wet footprints the whole way.

"Esme's going to kill us!" Bella gasped breathlessly between giggles.

"Then we'd better stay hidden upstairs!"

We burst into the garret then, and Bella dropped her sodden umbrella inside the door. I ditched the easel and bag and shook my head, sending a spray of water everywhere.

"Hey! You're getting me wet!" Bella cried. I laughed and caught her around her waist, pulling her up against me.

"You're already wet!"

She laughed and let her sodden coat slide back off her shoulders into a pile on the floor. I dipped my face into hers and kissed her. She gripped my shoulders, kissing me back, pushing my wet jacket off as well. Her cool hands slid back up my arms, over my wet shirt, up my neck and into my hair. I moaned against her mouth and clutched her tighter. The atmosphere shifted, our laughter died out, replaced suddenly by desire so thick it filled the room. My hands fisted into her wet blouse and she sighed against my lips.

Since that day back at her apartment when she'd broken things off for good with her old boyfriend, we'd taken a few steps forward physically, but I was still cautious. I didn't want to rush her and I didn't want her to do something that she'd regret later. I wanted her, more than I'd ever wanted anything, but if she felt bad about it afterwards it would break my heart. So I didn't push, I kept things light and easy. But now, with her hands moving over me, when I could feel her heart pounding against my chest, when her lips were on mine like this, and her clothes were wet and clinging to her, I was having a hard time backing off and taking it slow.

I felt her hands slip up under the hem of my shirt, resting lightly on my waist, touching my bare skin.

"Bella," I murmured against her neck, "this is…I'm not sure…"

She pressed her lips to my neck just below my ear, making my eyes roll back in my head a little. "Edward, I want to."

Her words nearly stopped my heart. I reached up and cupped her face in my hands, making her look at me. Her dark brown eyes were wide and clear, her face serene. "Are you sure?"

She leaned forward and kissed me softly. "I've never been more certain of anything."

I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against hers, taking deep breaths, because this changed everything and if this was going to happen, if we were going to do this, I couldn't just pounce on her with my out-of-control lust. Not tonight, anyway. I had to do this right and that meant taking it slow.

"Come here," I finally murmured, taking her hand and pulling her after me to the edge of the bed. I sat down next to her, slipping one arm behind her waist, pulling her up against me. With my free hand I stroked the side of her face with the back of my knuckles, tracing her temple, her cheekbone, the soft edge of her jaw. She closed her eyes and leaned into my hand, sighing. Cupping her jaw, I turned her face up to me and kissed her again, letting it slowly deepen and build. When she was making soft whimpering sounds and digging her nails into my shoulder, I finally allowed myself to unbutton her blouse. I took it slowly, one tiny pearl button at a time, giving her plenty of time to change her mind and stop me. But she simply shrugged her shoulders free of it before wrapping her bare arms around me again.

"I want to feel you, too," she whispered, tugging on the sleeve of my wet shirt. I didn't need any more encouragement, making quick work of the buttons and tossing it away from the bed.

I came back to her quickly, wrapping my arms around her, reveling in the feel of her bare skin against mine, kissing her deeply, and stroking her tongue with mine. I held my breath as I slid my hands around her back to unhook her bra. Bella dropped her forehead to my shoulder, breathing deeply, but she didn't stop me. I ran my hands up and down the length of her back several times until I felt her muscles relax under my hands. Then slowly I slipped the straps over her shoulders and down her arms.

Cupping her face in my hands, I tilted it up to mine, kissing her softly. "Bella, we can stop."

She shook her head, "I want to be with you, Edward. Don't stop. I'm just….no one's ever seen me like this."

I laid her back on the bed and she went unhesitatingly. I leaned back just a little, to take her in, her damp dark hair spread out across the white sheets, her pale skin lit by the dim glow of the city lights through the skylight, her dark eyes half-closed as she gazed up at me, shy but not afraid.

"You're so beautiful," I murmured. She smiled softly and reached up for me. I spent the next twenty minutes showing her how beautiful I found her, exploring every inch of her newly exposed skin with my fingertips and my lips. My hands ghosted over her breasts and she arched up underneath me. I smiled into her hair at her response before returning to cover her perfect breasts with my hands, to stroke her with my fingertips.

Slowly I bared her further to me, slipping her out of her skirt and her stockings. She let me lead the way, but she never hesitated or told me to stop.

I returned to her lips, kissing her long and deep and slow as my hands slid down her ribcage, her stomach, her hips, her thighs, wanting to know every part of her. Slowly I moved my hand between her knees and slipped my fingers up the inside of her thigh until I reached the center. She gasped a little at the unfamiliar sensation.

"Shhh," I soothed her, nibbling softly on her earlobe. "Trust me, love. I want to make this good. Do you trust me?"

Bella closed her eyes and nodded, her head falling back a little as I kissed my way along her neck. I let my hand continue its mission, gently guiding her where she'd never been before. Soon I felt her arch up a little underneath me, writhing against me.

"Oh…Edward…" she breathed uncertainly.

"It's alright, love," I whispered, "Let me do this for you. Let go."

She gasped and I felt it break over her. She whispered my name over and over as she clung tightly to my shoulders and I smiled against her neck. Tonight would be painful and possibly unpleasant for her, it was important to me that I give her this, so she would know that it could feel good, too.

As she lay still with her eyes closed, recovering, I stripped out of the rest of my clothes and retrieved the necessary precautions from the bedside table. As I got it ready, Bella shifted and looked at me out of one eye.

"What are you doing?" she murmured.

"It's protection, love. It keeps accidents from happening."

She thought about that for a moment. "Oh, I didn't know there was…well, thank you for thinking of that."

I kissed her gently, "Bella, I'd never put you in any danger."

In her blissful, boneless state, she languorously wrapped her arms around my shoulders, pulling me down onto her, kissing me back deeply. I shifted into position over her, feeling her legs tremble slightly against my hips.

"It may hurt, love. I wish it didn't have to."

"I know. It's okay."

"Just tell me if it's too much and I'll stop."

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut.

I kissed her again. "I love you, Bella."

I closed my eyes, too, and held my breath as I pushed into her. She gasped at the pain, then whimpered softly and I froze, hating that I had to hurt her. She took deep breaths, her eyes shut tight, as she waited for it to pass. Then she opened her eyes and looked up at me in the dark. "It's okay, Edward."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Keep going."

So I did, slowly, fighting against every urge I had to just let go and take her the way I wanted to because she felt so good. I gave her time to adjust to me, to this, setting a slow pace as I moved into her. Soon she was sighing softly, almost moaning, moving in tandem with me, holding onto me tightly and I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she was beginning to enjoy it.

"Bella," I breathed in her ear, "I'm almost…I won't last much longer."

"It's alright, Edward."

I let go, grasping her tightly against me as I rocked into her and the sensation flooded through me. "Oh God, Bella…I love you…"

In the long, peaceful quiet afterwards, I rolled onto my back, pulling her with me, settling her against my side with her head on my chest.

"Are you alright, love?"

"I'm perfect, Edward. Really, it's okay. Better than okay."

I felt her smile against my chest and couldn't help the satisfied smirk that took over my own face as I gripped her tighter. She sighed contentedly and within minutes I heard her breathing level out as she fell asleep. I lay awake for a little longer, just so I could soak up the exquisite feel of her pressed against me. The happiness and contentment I felt in this moment left me stunned. I already knew I was in love with her, but now…there was nothing I wouldn't do for her, no place she could go where I wouldn't follow. I thought back on painting her in the park that first night and I could only be abjectly grateful for every step we'd each taken that had led us to each other.

I woke up before Bella the next morning, curled around her, her back pressed to my chest. I propped up on my elbow, watching her sleep for a few minutes, soaking up the bliss of this moment. The early morning light was cool and diffuse, making her skin glow like milk glass. Her hair was a tangled mess since she'd fallen asleep with it still damp, but she still looked beautiful. I ran my hand over her shoulder and down her arm. Her skin was silky and cool and I worried that she was chilled. We really were soaked to the skin last night and the garret was so cold and drafty. I should get her something warm to drink, I thought. Maybe I could slip down to the kitchen and get the coffee on before Carlisle woke up.

I pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder before pulling the blankets up over her snugly and slipping out of bed. She never stirred.

I dressed hurriedly and slipped soundlessly out of the garret and down to the kitchen. The house was silent. I was inexplicably up before everyone, but I was glad, since it meant that I could do this for Bella.

I got the coffee underway and I was pilfering through the cabinets to see if there was anything to eat when Emmett's voice startled me.

"There you are!" he said from the doorway of the kitchen. "We were all wondering where you and Bella had got off to last night. Somebody said they saw you come in, but you never turned up downstairs."

I rubbed the back of my neck with my hand. "Ah, yeah. We got caught in the rain, so I took her upstairs to dry off."

Emmett waggled his eyebrows at me. "And that took all night?"

"Shut up, Em."

"Hey, just teasing. Believe me, I'm delighted that you two have finally done the deed."

"I am not discussing this with you, Emmett." I turned away resolutely and fidgeted with the coffee pot for a moment. He didn't say anything and after a couple of seconds I sighed and turned back to him, "How could you tell?"

"I can see it on your face."

"Really?"

"The face of a man in love."

I thought about that for a minute, then smiled. "Yeah, I guess I am."

He shook his head sadly. "I'm glad you can make her happy. Lord knows, she deserves it after that mess with her friend."

"She doesn't talk about it, but it still bothers her," I said.

Emmett was sitting at the kitchen table with me now as we both waited on the coffee. He was leaning forward on his crossed arms, head bowed.

"Something bothering you, Em?"

"Yeah, you could say that. Last night, before I came over here, I went to a cocktail party with a guy I know through work. The usual boring shit, you know?"

I nodded and waited for him to continue.

"I saw that asshole, Royce King there."

"How was Rosalie?" I asked, sitting forward urgently. "Did she look alright?"

"He wasn't with Rosalie," Emmett said slowly. "He was with another girl."

I sucked my breath in through my teeth. "But she told Bella that they're getting married!"

Emmett shrugged. "He didn't look like he was marrying anybody last night."

"Bloody hell," I whispered, feeling punched in the gut and wondering how on earth I was going to tell Bella about this.

"I know," Emmett muttered "I keep trying to tell myself it's not my problem. Rosalie made it perfectly clear to Bella that she's made her choice and she's sticking to it. But I gotta admit, this is making me really angry."

"Me too," I conceded. "That bloody bastard. He's ruined Rose and now he's off to do it again with another girl."

"I don't know what we're supposed to do," Emmett growled.

I dropped my head into my hands. "But we have to do something, don't we? We can't let him get away with this."

"He's got his goons, though. If we go over there and bust him up, he'll take us out."

"You're right. We have to get at him some other way," I mumbled, thinking hard about every scrap of information we knew about Royce King. Then it clicked. He was British. Maybe there was something on him in England. And there was one person I knew that might be able to find out for me. My father.

"You look like you have an idea," Emmett said questioningly.

"Maybe. There may be somebody in England that could look into the bastard for us. I just really don't want to make this phone call."

Emmett smirked. "Ghosts from your past?"

I rubbed my hands over my face. "Yeah, you could say that. Hey, Em, can we keep this between us for right now? Bella's doing a lot better, this will just upset her. I'll tell her, just not quite yet."

"Sure thing," he said, leaning back in his chair. "But let me know what your friend in England has to say. What this bastard's doing to Rosalie, it's just not right. I really want to end this son of a bitch in the worst way."

"You and me both, Em. You and me both."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! **

**A quick announcement unrelated to the story. Spanglemaker, WriteOnTime, ciao_bella27, MsTallulahBelle, the_glory_days, and littlesecret84 are putting together a little Valentine fun. The six of them will be writing stand alone o/s prompted by a slogan on a candy heart. They'll be posting them under the pen name "Cupid'sLittleFicsters." These ladies deliver, so I would recommend you check it out :) Put the ficsters on alert so you don't miss it!  
**


	19. Corps de Dame

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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**A/N: With Fanfiction being so wonky last week, some of you may not have gotten the notifications for the last chapter's update. We DID update last Tuesday, so if you haven't read Chapter 18 (to jog your memory, it was an EPOV) GO BACK A CHAPTER AND CATCH UP. This isn't the kind of chapter you want to jump into without having read the last update. Okay, are you ready? Let's go...**

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**Warning: this chapter contains graphic violence and possible triggers.**

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I woke up slowly, only vaguely aware of the silky sheets which were wrapped around my bare legs. I felt warm and boneless, and completely relaxed. Rolling over sleepily, I reached out for Edward, not really processing anything but my immediate need to be close to him. Instead of his smooth, cool skin, however, my arm fell on an empty space, a warm spot where his body had been not long ago.

I propped myself up quickly, blinking in the weak morning light. The night flashed in front of my eyes in frozen, frenzied moments. His hands, so sure and strong, playing my body like I was one of his pianos. I closed my eyes for a moment and remembered the way he whispered to me, sweet words of love and comfort as he... well. I had thought about his body, _our_ bodies in a vague, mechanical sense before last night, but experiencing it was something quite different.

I glanced down at myself, exposed in the half light, and felt the blood rush to my face. Collapsing back onto my pillow, I pulled the sheet up to my chin, suddenly embarrassed by my nakedness, although I was the only person in the room.

It was an odd feeling, knowing that Edward now knew me intimately in a way even I hadn't known myself before last night. Odd, but liberating. I had been thinking about it for weeks, and last night everything had just seemed so ...right. Like it was destiny, Edward and me, coming together in this time and this place. I smiled at my silly, romantic thought and stretched a little, pointing my toes and reveling in the way my whole body seemed to pleasantly ache. I was considering looking around for something to wear when I heard the telltale creaking of footsteps on the garret stairs.

I panicked, thinking it might be Esme or, God forbid, Carlisle. Scrambling franticly for the quilt, I pulled it up over my head and curled into a ball underneath the covers, remembering too late that my clothes were still strewn all over the floor, lying where we had dropped them in our haste. I didn't have time to make a dash for them, so I simply snuggled deeper under the covers and prayed that it was only Edward coming back from wherever he had gone.

The door creaked open and closed again, and I heard gentle footfalls approaching the bed.

"Bella?"

The quilt was pulled away from my face, and I squinted in the sudden brightness. Edward was leaning over me, a tray in his hands and a brilliant smile on his face.

"I thought you might like something hot to drink," he said, setting the tray down on one of his rickety kitchen chairs and sinking down onto the bed near my knees. He reached up to cup my cheek with one hand, still smiling, and leaned in for a gentle kiss.

I hummed and reached up to touch his hair, pulling him sideways and into bed with me. He laughed and landed almost on top of me, catching himself with his free hand.

"Good morning," I mumbled into his lips.

"Good morning," he responded, not moving from his spot above me. "How are you... that is, how do you feel?"

"A little sore," I admitted, "but not bad. Happy," I added, to wipe the concerned look off his face.

"I'm glad," he whispered, leaning in to kiss me again.

"You left," I said, after a few minutes of kissing. "I woke up and you were gone."

"I'm sorry," he said, crawling up the bed and curling one arm around me. "I figured I could make it back upstairs before you woke up." He nuzzled my neck a little, inhaling deeply before kissing just below my ear. I shivered. "Forgive me?"

I turned in his arms and brought my own up around his neck, ignoring the way the sheet shifted in the process. "You'll have to make it up to me," I said, trying to use the flirtatious tone that worked so well when I waited tables. He looked like he was fighting a smile.

"Well, I brought you a coffee," he said slowly. "I even made it to the pot before Carlisle, so I promise it's drinkable."

"That's a start," I agreed, bringing my hands down to the buttons on his shirt. It annoyed me that he was completely covered up, while I was wrapped in nothing but a bed sheet. I flicked open the top three in quick succession, desperate to touch his chest, to feel his skin on my own. I wanted to be as close to him as I could be, to sink into his skin and never come out again. Something was triggered in me last night, and I didn't know that I ever wanted to _stop_ touching him. "But I'm afraid it's just not enough."

His smile softened, and he covered my hands with his own as I went for the last few buttons.

"Bella, we don't have to do this now," he murmured. "You're probably tired, and I know you're a bit uncomfortable. We've got time, love."

Love. He was always calling me that. He looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered, his whole world, and every day I felt more like he was mine. I had started to tell him I loved him any number of times over the last several weeks, but something stopped the words from actually exiting my mouth. The uncertainty of our situation and all the conversations we hadn't had yet made me hesitate. There was so much we didn't know about each other, and so much we hadn't decided. I knew that once I said those words there would be no going back for me.

So instead of responding, I slid my hands into the gap in his shirt, running my fingers lighting over his ribs and up over his chest. I leaned in and kissed from his chin to his ear, whispering a soft, "Please?"

He let out a low rumbling kind of sound, and it brought with it an echo of pleasure from the night before. I slipped my hands down and finished unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it off of his shoulders and rolling so I was half on top of him.

"I suppose the coffee can wait," he sighed, kissing a light trail down my neck and fumbling with his pants as I tried to cover him with the quilt and maneuver him underneath the sheets with me, laughing freely the whole time.

By the time we got out of bed, the coffee was ice cold.

Edward had a gig at Le Tabou that night, and Emmett, Alice, and Jasper decided to join us. Since Jasper and Edward were already at our apartment, Emmett met us there so we could walk over together before Edward's set. He seemed a little quieter than usual when I greeted him at the door, only giving me a half-hearted smile before settling down on a kitchen chair to wait. I saw him exchange a wary sort of look with Edward, but the next minute Alice was distracting me, yanking me by my shoulders into a chair so she could do something with my hair.

Edward hadn't stopped touching me since he picked me up from the café that afternoon. It was little things: holding my hand, drawing light, random shapes on my arm as we sat side by side, or letting his arm drape casually over my shoulder.

Pulling particularly hard on a hunk of hair, Alice leaned in and whispered, "Don't think I haven't noticed the way you two are looking at each other today."

I glanced up at her, wide-eyed and a little flushed, and she grinned. "Good for you, honey. If you've got any questions, you let me know."

"What makes you think I would have questions?" I whispered casually, glancing over at where the boys sat talking quietly. Was I that obvious?

She snorted and then shrugged. "Okay, be that way. Just be careful, and let me know if you need any advice."

I bit my cheek to stop my smile and shrugged back at her. "Sure thing."

"You know, I don't think the night would be ruined if you just left Bella's hair down," Jasper groused, after about ten minutes. "She looks fine, doesn't she Edward?"

"She looks ravishing," Edward said quickly, giving me a wink.

"Almost done," Alice said, pulling back a stray strand and sticking a hairpin into the knot at my neck firmly. "There! Perfection. Don't mess it up." She gave a meaningful glance at Edward.

He crossed the room in two steps and swept me into his arms, leaning down to kiss my cheek. "I hate it when she won't let me touch you," he stage-whispered, winking at Alice and kissing me noisily on the cheek. She made a huffing sound, but I just laughed and pulled away.

"Alright, that's enough," I said lightly, though secretly I didn't know that anything with Edward would ever be _enough_. "Let me get my coat and we'll go."

I turned toward my room when the phone rang.

"Bella can you get that? I need to slip something else on." Alice grinned and took off for her room without a backwards glance. I groaned. She knew I hated answering the telephone; my French had improved by leaps and bounds, but I still had a hard time on the phone. She insisted it was good for my language skills, but I suspected she just thought it was amusing.

"Please?" she called as it rang again.

I sighed and picked up. "Allô?"

There was a pause, and then a sort of strangled gasping sound. I waited, but there was no answering voice. I tried again. "Allô? Hello?"

"Bella?"

"Yes, this is she," I said cautiously. I hadn't given anyone besides my parents and Edward this number, and I didn't recognize the voice of the woman on the other end.

"Bella, it's Rose. I need you... to come..." she made and odd little whimpering sound, "there's so much blood. I'm at the house. Please hurry."

"Rose?" Her normally melodic voice was harsh and gruff, like she had been suffering from laryngitis and a head cold at the same time. "Rose, what's wrong? What do you mean there's blood?"

Edward and Emmett were by my side immediately, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Jasper leave the room quickly, dashing toward Alice's room.

"Bella, the baby," she gasped. "I can't feel him. Please, I'm sorry, I was trying to...please," she gasped. "He's gone, he just left, I don't think I can..." I could hear her labored breaths loud and clear through the connection. "Please hurry. I don't know when he's coming back."

"Are you alone?" I asked, allowing Edward to pull my coat over my arms and hand me my purse.

"Yes," she choked out. "For now. Hurry."

"Sweetheart, I need you to try to stay awake. We're coming. We're going to help you."

"So sorry—"

"Hush, we're coming. Please just hang on. We'll be right there."

There was silence from the other end, Rose's gasping breaths suddenly stilled. I felt my heart drop to my stomach. I dropped the phone and spun to face the room, meeting solemn stares.

"Something's happened. We have to go. She said something about blood and being alone, and the baby," I started talking faster and my eyes burned. She had sounded so raw, and then when her breathing stopped—"We have to go. Now."

I barely registered running through the streets toward the house where I had last seen Rose. Edward gripped my hand tightly the entire way there, while Emmett flanked my other side and Alice and Jasper followed right behind. The sky could have turned orange and the grass blue for all the attention I was paying to my surroundings. All I was conscious of was the fact that Rose was hurt, and she had called me.

When we reached the nondescript building, I ran up to the door and pounded my fist on it, then buzzed the doorbell. There was no response.

"Rose!" I yelled, pounding again. What was her maid's name? I couldn't remember for the life of me, and in my panicked state, nothing was registering but the fact that Rose was on the other side of the door, bleeding and possibly unconscious. "ROSE!"

I tried the door but it was locked. Edward pulled me away gently. "Bella, calm down. We'll get inside somehow. Wait with Alice, please." He spoke firmly and with confidence, forcing me to meet his eyes. I blinked rapidly, tears falling as I took in deep, ragged breaths.

"Hurry," I begged, backing up and going back to where Alice stood, pale and silent, on the sidewalk.

Edward, Emmett, and Jasper seemed to have some sort of a silent conversation. After a pause, Emmett nodded. "On the count of three, then?"

Jasper nodded and looked and Edward, who gave a grim sort of smile. "On three," he agreed.

"One," Emmett said, squaring off against the door. Jasper and Edward followed suit. I clutched at Alice's hand.

"Two."

"What are they doing?" I whispered frantically. "They can't just break down the door, what if Royce comes back?"

"Three!"

The three of them shouldered against the door at the same time and it gave a shuddering cracking noise.

"Again," Jasper grunted.

"They have to do something," Alice whispered back. I didn't know why we were whispering, the situation just seemed to call for it. "What else is there? They'll get inside, we'll get Rose, and we'll leave. Be brave, Bella. Be brave for Rose."

I nodded and watched as the men continued to pound at the door with their shoulders and backs. It only took a couple of minutes for the door to shudder and swing inwards, chunks of splintered wood hanging haphazardly off of the frame. I didn't wait for them to enter, I just bolted up the steps again and into the foyer.

"Bella, wait!" Edward barked. "You can't just go running inside; you don't know what—"

A loud, strangled cry fell from my lips before he could finish his admonition. The gilded mirror that had hung in the foyer was smashed on the floor, pieces of shattered glass and splintered wood scattered all over the tile.

"Rose!" I yelled, pushing past Edward, who had stepped in front of me again. I walked down the hall toward the back parlor where we had sat on that horrible afternoon so many weeks ago. "Rose, where are you?"

I heard Jasper, Emmett, and Alice come in after us, and the creak of a stair. When I reached the sitting room, I looked in and gasped again. The arm chair was lying on its side, and a picture frame lay broken next to it. I picked the frame up. It was a picture of Rose and me from our high school graduation. More tears streamed down my cheeks as I glanced around the room for any sign of her.

My stomach turned as I saw what looked like a bloodstain near the fallen chair. It was enough blood that I knew whoever left it would be in bad shape.

I heard a noise behind me and turned quickly. It was Emmett.

"Jasper's checking out the rest of the house, looking for anybody who might be around, and Edward's with Alice," he said quietly, eyeing the blood stain with a stern look on his face. "Any luck finding Rose?"

"No," I said. My voice shook. "I'm so scared, Emmett. What if..." I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Come on, kid. This hall keeps going, maybe she's in another room."

I followed him back into the hall and we continued together toward the back of the house. The hall opened up into a cozy kitchen, and that's where we found her, curled around the phone and unconscious, the receiver still off the hook from when she had called me.

The sight of her was almost too much to take in. She was lying in what could only be a puddle of her own blood. Her light, summer dress was torn down the front, and her bottom lip was split. Long purple bruises had formed on her slender, white neck.

It was all I could do not to throw up.

Emmett, on the other hand, didn't hesitate.

"Edward!" he bellowed, moving forward in a couple of quick steps and stooping next to Rose's prone figure. "Get in here!"

There was a rumble of footsteps and Edward, Alice and Jasper appeared in the doorway behind us.

"Oh my God," Alice gasped.

Emmett had his hand on Rose's neck, feeling for a pulse. "She's alive," he breathed, relief leaking into his tone. "And she's breathing. But we need to get her an ambulance right away."

"I'll take care of it," Edward said immediately, picking the phone up from where it lay and dialing the operator.

"Why would anyone want to hurt you?" Emmett whispered, still staring down at Rose. She stirred, but didn't wake. He rolled her slightly so she was on her back and tilted her head back. "What kind of a heartless son of a bitch would do this to a pregnant woman?" I didn't think he was talking to me, and even if he was, I didn't have any answers.

"Do you think we can move her?" Emmett asked Jasper, who was standing with his arms around Alice, her face buried in his chest.

"I think we should wait for the ambulance. They'll have some sort of a stretcher," Jasper answered shortly, squeezing Alice's shoulders as she let out a particularly loud sob.

Edward hung up the phone and turned back into the room, his eyes lingering on me. "They're on their way. Luckily we're not far from the Hôtel de Dieu. Carlisle is going to meet us there, and Esme is on her way to Le Tabou to tell them I won't be coming to work tonight."

"We can't just leave her lying there with all that blood." I didn't know who I was talking to, but my words had a pleading edge to them.

"We don't know what happened to her or how badly she's injured, Bella," Emmett said, anger boiling underneath his quiet, clipped words. "It's better to leave her until we can move her safely."

Edward walked over to where I stood, wrapping an arm around me. "The ambulance will be here soon. Do you want to wait for them to get here or start walking? If we leave now we can probably make it there by the time they get her to the hospital."

I clutched his arm anxiously. "I don't want to leave her."

"I'll stay with her, Bella," Emmett said, not looking up. Rose's chest rose and fell in shallow, even breaths. "If you hurry you can get there before the ambulance."

He looked up, his normally cheerful face solemn and sincere. "I won't leave her side. I promise."

I hesitated, but when I looked over to Alice, she nodded. "Okay," I whispered.

We ran to the hospital, which I had passed on a regular basis without even noticing. It was an old, sprawling building situated right on the Île de la cité, close to the park where Edward and I had first seen each other. Alice came with us, but Jasper opted to stay behind. He said that he had some basic medical training, things he had picked up from a medic friend during the war, and if something went wrong he wanted to be able to help Emmett.

Carlisle was waiting for us at the doors when we burst in. "Have they—"Edward started, but Carlisle shook his head.

"No. I spoke to Marcus when I got here and asked him to watch for the ambulance. I gave him the name and description you gave me over the phone, he promised to keep me appraised of the situation."

I looked at Carlisle questioningly, and he gave me an apologetic smile. "Marcus and I were, well, I suppose we were colleagues during the war."

"Carlisle is a doctor," Edward supplemented, squeezing my hand. "He worked for an underground resistance cell during the occupation. It's how he and Esme met."

"Not actually a doctor, Edward," Carlisle corrected with a small smile. "I was attending medical school in Italy when things started to get dicey. I moved to France and I never went back. Anyway, I did what I could during the war."

Just then, a short, stout man with dark, slicked back hair came scurrying around a corner, headed straight for Carlisle. Emmett and Jasper followed behind him. I noticed that Emmett had blood smeared across his shirt, and both of them were looking rather grim.

"She's been admitted and they're taking her into surgery," the man said. "It's a good thing she was brought in, much longer and she may have lost too much blood."

"Thank you, Marcus," Carlisle said, glancing at Alice and me. "What's the prognosis?"

"Cracked rib, fractured tibia, contusions, possible internal bleeding," Marcus listed off swiftly. Then he hesitated. "And she'll likely lose the baby. We may get lucky, she appears to be about six months along... but if we have to deliver the fetus it won't be able to survive outside the womb. If she's bleeding internally, the situation may be quite serious for mother and child. Can you contact the girl's family, Carlisle?"

Carlisle looked at me again, and I cleared my throat. "She doesn't have any family, but I consider her my sister. I'll wait here as long as it takes. What are the chances..." my chin quivered slightly and a lump rose in my throat, "well, is she going to... to make it?"

Marcus gave a kind of lukewarm smile and patted my hand. "She's in with a surgeon now, my dear. They're doing everything they can."

He squeezed Carlisle's shoulder, gave Alice a little nod, and walked back the way he came. It didn't escape my notice that he hadn't answered my question.

The group of us sat in uncomfortable little chairs for the next hour or so, not speaking and occasionally getting updates through Carlisle or his friend Marcus. Eventually, Marcus came out accompanied by another man in hospital robes.

"Which of you is the girl's family?"

I stared around the room for a moment before realizing that he was talking about me. "Here, sir."

"I'm very sorry."

The walls started to close in on me and my ears started to ring. The doctor kept talking, but I only caught every other word. "Complications... miscarriage... hemorrhage..."

Edward was propping me up, one arm supporting me from my waist and another around my shoulders. "When can we see her?" he asked. I blinked. See her? The ringing in my ears subsided a little.

"She's been assigned a recovery room," the new doctor answered. "She's still unconscious, but we've stabilized her. I can take you to see her now, if you'd like."

Edward looked down at me. "Would you like that, love?"

I nodded dumbly and allowed him to lead me after the doctors. I was only vaguely aware of the group following behind me. Rosalie was alive. She had lost the baby. She was beaten and bloody and alone. And Royce was nowhere to be found.

She looked tiny, spread out on her hospital bed. Rose was not a small girl; she was nearly six feet tall with a strong and willowy figure. In the drab hospital gown, however, with the bruises on her face and neck, it was as if she had shrunk. She looked frail. Her stomach was flat and empty, and in her state of unconsciousness her face looked sunken and sallow.

I lowered myself into the chair by her bedside and picked up her hand. It was ice cold to the touch.

"How did this happen?" I whispered.

"How do you think?" Jasper growled, clutching Alice to his side. "That bastard beat her up and then left."

"We have to make sure he doesn't find her," I said quietly, rubbing circles in her hand with my thumb like her Aunt Helen used to when she was sick. "We have to keep her safe."

"Of course we will," Emmett said firmly. "Don't worry, Bella. We're going to make sure he doesn't come near any of you girls ever again." A fire blazed in his deep brown eyes. He had always been kind and funny, but in that moment he looked every inch the fighter. I knew he meant what he said. I nodded and leaned back into the chair, trying to get comfortable in the rickety old wooden seat.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I was being shook awake. "Bella, we have to leave the room for a moment." Edward's voice seemed to come from far away. "The nurse is here, and she needs us to leave. Come on, love."

I nodded blearily and staggered to my feet, setting Rose's hand down on the bed and following him out of the room. Alice, Jasper and Emmett were already in the hallway.

"What time is it?" I asked, stretching my arms over my head.

"About half past eleven," Edward answered.

I rolled my shoulders back and forward, trying to wake up my limbs from their uncomfortable slumber. "I think I need to use the rest room. Are you guys going back to the waiting room?"

"Yes, the nurse said she would come and get us when she was done," Alice said. "Just come and find us when you're done."

I nodded and headed off in the opposite direction. I wandered the serpentine halls for several minutes, passing doctors and nurses and plenty of patient rooms, but not one bathroom. Eventually, I found I had walked in a big circle, ending up back where I started near Rose's room. I was about to give in and go back to the waiting room when I heard a voice that made my blood run cold.

"What do you mean you won't let me see her?"

I had only heard the voice once before, but it was burned into my memory. Royce King.

"That's my fiancé in there, damn it. Get out of my way."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but the doctors gave strict instructions on who was to be allowed in to see this patient, and I don't have your name."

I stepped around the corner and saw him looming over a tiny nurse, doing her best to give him a stern glare.

"Don't let him in," I said loudly. The nurse and Royce both turned to look at me, surprised. "He's the one who put her in here."

"Preposterous," he scoffed, narrowing his eyes. "I went to visit my fiancé and found the door torn off its hinges and the place smashed to bits. I have half a mind to call the police and report you and your friends for assault and breaking and entering."

The nurse looked between us uncertainly, clearly thrown off by his authoritative tone. I crossed my arms. "If you don't believe me, go speak to her doctor."

Royce smiled. "By all means," he said, turning back to the nurse. "Go fetch the doctor."

She glanced at me again, then nodded slowly. "Alright," she said. "Stay here." She turned a left us alone in the empty hall.

I walked up to him, keeping my head held high and refusing to break eye contact. "How dare you show up here? How did you even know where to go?"

He looked down at me, eyes gleaming. "This is the only emergency room in this part of the city. I had no doubt when I got to the house and found her gone that she had called you or your tiny friend for help. I wasn't about to let you take what was mine."

"Yours?" I echoed in disbelief. "She's not a possession. That was your _child_. Your fiancé, for God's sake. How dare you? Get out. Now."

He stepped closer to me, invading my space. "She's exactly what I say she is. I get the impression that you're not afraid of me, Bella Swan, but that is a big mistake." He reached out in a lightning fast movement, grabbing my wrist and twisting it hard and fast, pulling me into his chest. I cried out in pain, but he didn't loosen his grip. "Do you know how easy it was to break her?" he whispered in my ear. "To make her bleed? To make her scream? She won't threaten to leave again. And you won't take her away from me."

"Oy!" A loud shout echoed from the end of the hall, and Royce turned just enough so I could see past him to where Edward stood, flanked by Emmett and Jasper. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Edward starting striding down the hall, but Emmett was faster. He looked enraged, and at the moment I didn't know who scared me more, Edward, Emmett, or Royce.

"Let go of her you sick bastard," he growled, reaching us and wrenching Royce away from me. He let me go, knocking me off balance so I fell to the floor. He faced Emmett with a snarl.

"Ah, Mr. McCarty," he said, that unpleasant sneer still frozen on his face. "So good to see you again."

"Don't give me that, you piece of shit," Emmett spat. Edward ran up to me and squatted in front of me protectively.

"Are you okay?" he said urgently. "Let me see your arm."

I obeyed automatically, my eyes locked on Royce and Emmett who were still facing off. Jasper was inching his way behind Royce.

"What kind of a monster are you?" Emmett barked. "You may have your fingers in all kinds of dirty little pies, but you're done making that girl's life miserable, do you hear me?"

"I don't see how my private life is any of your business," Royce said, walking toward him, cracking his knuckles. He was distracted enough by Emmett that he never saw Jasper move into position behind him. It only took a couple of seconds. Jasper had Royce's arms pinned behind him, and Emmett's hands were at his throat.

"The second you hit a woman, you made it my business," Emmett said, his voice nothing but a low growl. "Now, you're going to leave. You're going to leave Rose alone, and you're not going to contact Alice or Bella. You may have friends in low places, but I know a few fellas too. Don't test me."

Royce struggled against Jasper's hold, clearly furious but unable to speak because of Emmett's hand on his throat. After a few more seconds, Emmett released him with a jerk. "Do we understand each other?"

Royce regarded him for a long moment, and then spit at his face. A fleck of saliva hit Emmett's cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his sleeve, then calmly pulled his fist back and let it fly, striking Royce square in the jaw.

Jasper shoved him away then, sending him staggering across the hallway.

"Get out," Emmett said. "Now."

Royce rubbed his jaw absently, wiping a trickle of blood away from his lip. "I'll be back," he spat. "Don't think this is over."

He spun on his heel and stormed off down the hall. Once he was out of sight, Emmett's shoulders sank down and he turned to face Edward and me. "Are you okay?" he asked smiling. The hulking man who had just pummeled Royce King was gone, replaced with my gentle friend.

I nodded, then cleared my throat. "Where's Alice?"

"She went to hunt up some coffee," Jasper answered. "Good thing too, or she'd have been right in the action trying to throw punches."

Edward made a funny face. "Jasper, was that... did you just tell a joke?"

Jasper rubbed his neck awkwardly and then gave an odd sort of shrug and a sheepish smile. "Maybe."

Edward laughed and pulled me carefully to my feet. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Who wants coffee?" Alice's voice trilled from behind me. She was holding three chipped cups, carefully making her way toward us. "I could only find three cups, first come first serve! I get one, because I'm the one who hunted them down."

Jasper and Emmett claimed the other two cups, and we were about to head back to the waiting room when the nurse from earlier returned, Marcus on her heels.

"Now where's the gentleman gone?" she asked looking around our group as if she was expecting Royce to pop out at any moment.

"He left," I said simply.

She gave me a shrewd look before nodding and addressing the group. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you back in to see the patient tonight. You can come back tomorrow."

"The young lady will have to stay for a few days," Marcus said. "You can come back and see her tomorrow. She's still unconscious, but there's a good chance she'll wake up tomorrow."

"I want to say goodnight," I insisted, but Edward grabbed my hand and squeezed gently.

"He's right, Bella, we should go home. We can come back tomorrow. Do you know where Carlisle got to, Marcus?"

"I believe he's waiting for you out front. Take care, my boy, I dare say I'll see you tomorrow."

He nodded and led me toward the waiting room, our friends following behind us.

"Stay with me tonight?" he murmured, running his hand up and down my arm in a soothing manner.

"Of course," I said, looking up at him. I smiled in spite of myself. "I couldn't sleep on my own tonight. Bad dreams."

"I'll keep the bad dreams away," he promised, holding me tighter as we entered the waiting room. "You'll always be safe with me, I swear it."

I nestled into his side and breathed in his comforting scent. I couldn't imagine ever feeling unsafe when he was around. "I know."

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**A/N: Buckle your seat belts, the shit just hit the fan. Or something like that. Thanks for reading :) **


	20. Come Rain or Come Shine

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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"Rosie, please wake up." Bella was still holding Rosalie's hand, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles gently. She was hunched forward over the edge of the bed, her eyes riveted to Rosalie's unmoving form.

I'd finally managed to pry her away from Rose's side late last night and back to Esme's. She broke down once I got her home, the stress and fear finally catching up to her, and it was hours before I'd finally managed to soothe her into a restless sleep. Then she was up with the dawn, racing to the hospital and back to Rosalie's room.

Rose's condition was unchanged from the night before. Well, unchanged except that she looked a lot worse. Yesterday there were only the beginnings of bruises here and there. Overnight they'd darkened and new ones had appeared all over her. Her neck was a mass of purple. The outlines of his hands were visible around her throat. It made me feel sick just to look at it. There was also a fearsome bruise spreading across her left cheekbone where she'd been struck hard. Her arms were peppered in bruises and if I could see her legs under the blanket, I was sure they'd look the same. Her split lip was swollen and crusted with dried blood and there was a small cut on her temple near her hairline that had been bandaged up. Her eyes were still closed but the dark circles under them were pronounced. She was a stranger to me, and how she'd treated Bella had not made me especially eager to get to know her, but looking at her beaten, still form in the bed still filled me with rage.

Bella seemed to have put aside their recent unpleasant past, instead focusing on their shared history. She'd been at Rose's side all day, calling her by her childhood nickname, smoothing the hair out of her face, entreating her to open her eyes. There had been no response.

"Love, you should take a break. You've been here for hours," I said, running a hand down her hair.

"But what if she wakes up and I'm not here?"

"Just a few minutes. Take a walk down the hall and stretch your legs. You can come right back."

Bella sighed and shifted uncomfortably before reluctantly nodding in agreement. I took her hand and helped her to her feet. She stretched her arms over her head slowly. I knew it was wrong to lust after her in our present circumstances, but I really couldn't help it. She just looked so damned stunning, arching her back like that, her hair tumbling down over her shoulders. I shook my head slightly to clear the inappropriate train of thought before taking her hand and leading her from the room. She kept casting anxious glances back over her shoulder at Rosalie.

"I'm going to the ladies' room," Bella said, rising up on tiptoes to kiss my cheek.

"I'm just going to pop out front for a smoke."

I lit my cigarette and leaned back against the wall of the hospital, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. I was sore all over. It turns out beating down doors was not as easy as it looked. This whole miserable situation was so screwed up and I had no idea what to do next. What would we do about Rose? And Royce? Everything was swirling around in my head and the lack of sleep was making it hard to focus on any of it.

"Hey!" Emmett's loud greeting made me jump slightly. He and Jasper were standing in the doorway of the hospital looking like they had just come out.

"Oh, Em…Jasper, I didn't know you were here today."

"Alice is coming over after work so we said we'd meet her here," Jasper shrugged.

"What have you guys been up to?"

Emmett chuckled. "Recon."

"Huh?"

Jasper shot him a look out of the corner of his eye and smirked. "Well, since we had a little time to kill, I figured I'd do a little investigative leg work."

"And by that he means flirting with nurses," Emmett grinned.

"Excuse me, dimples," Jasper snarled at him, "I believe the heavy duty flirting fell solely to you."

"Why were you guys flirting with nurses?" I asked, trying hard to follow the conversation, and slightly puzzled about this odd new comeraderie that seemed to have sprung up between Jasper and Emmett.

"I was trying to find out some information about those goons you beat up in the alley a couple of weeks ago."

"Did you find out anything?"

"Yeah, turns out they were brought here to get patched up. A certain nurse remembered them and Emmett here persuaded her to share their names."

"Holy smokes, Edward, you really did a number on those guys," Emmett said.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't remind me, please. So you found out their names. What good does that do us?"

"Well, I'll poke around a little, shake a few trees, see what falls out," Jasper shrugged. "You never know."

"I guess any information is helpful at this point," I said, taking a last drag on my cigarette before crushing it out. "I better get back in to Bella."

"How is Rosalie?" Emmett asked softly.

"The same."

He shook his head sadly and Jasper cursed silently under his breath. I left them to wait out front for Alice and headed back to Rosalie's room. Bella was back already, holding her hand again, humming something under her breath. I slipped my arm around her shoulders to let her know I was there and she smiled softly at me.

"Any change?"

"Nothing," Bella sighed.

Then Rosalie groaned audibly.

"Rose?" Bella sat up, clutching at her hand. "Rosie? It's Bella!"

"B-Bella?" Rosalie's voice was a hollow rasp. Then her eyes cracked open a bit and shot around the room, frantic and unfocused.

"It's okay, Rose," Bella murmured, "you're in the hospital."

"Bella, you're here."

"Of course I'm here, sweetie," Bella said soothingly.

"But after what I did…" Her voice was stronger now and she started in the bed, as if she were trying to sit up. Bella threw an arm over her shoulders to hold her down.

"Rose, just relax. You'll hurt yourself."

"Oh God, Bella! I'm so sorry!" Rosalie's raspy voice cracked further and tears spilled out of the corners of her eyes. "I didn't want him to hurt you, too! I didn't mean it! I'm so sorry!"

"Shhh! Rose, it's okay. We'll talk later, now you need to rest."

"Is he here?" Rosalie's frantic eyes shot to the door before skittering back to me. She eyed me warily, not surprising, I realized, as she didn't know me. I decided to get out of the way before I upset her any further.

"Bella," I said, touching her shoulder. "I'm going to get the doctor."

Bella nodded in understanding, still gripping Rosalie's shoulders.

"No, he's not here, Rose."

"The baby…" I heard Rose murmur as I slipped out of the room.

"Oh, Rose." Bella's sad voice tore at me as I retreated down the hall. I found Marcus as quickly as I could and he rushed to Rosalie's room, closing the door behind him. I could hear Rose's raw weeping from inside as she was told that she'd lost the baby. I stayed just outside the door, my hands fisted into my hair, listening to her sob through the doctor's examination, listening to Bella's murmured soothing words. Finally Rose's weeping tapered off and I wondered if they'd had to sedate her.

"Edward?" I looked up to see Carlisle and Esme coming down the hall towards me. "What's happened?"

"Rosalie woke up," I said, pointing at the closed door. "It sounds bad."

Carlisle frowned and seemed to consider that for just a moment. "Is Marcus in there with her?"

I nodded.

"Let me see what I can find out." He slipped inside and Esme came to lean next to me against the wall. She was wearing a severe-looking dark suit and her honey-colored hair was twisted gracefully up on the back of her head.

"Carlisle says she has lost the baby," she said.

I nodded. "She's a mess. That bastard really did a number on her. But nothing she can't recover from. Marcus even said she can still have children someday. And the leg fracture was so minor that he decided to just splint it instead of putting her in a cast. So there's a little good news."

Esme stared across the hall at the wall, her expression flinty. "She will come to stay with us," she said, her voice firm.

"Rosalie? But you don't even know her, Esme. _I_ don't even know her."

"She will come," Esme repeated, her voice harder, "as soon as they let her out of this place."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutement. Edward, you'll make sure she comes, oui?"

"If that's what you want, I'll talk to Bella." I shook my head, at a loss as to why Esme wanted to move this complete stranger into her house. But the look on her face told me she wasn't taking no for an answer.

The door to the room opened and Marcus came out, followed by Carlisle who had his arm around Bella's shoulders. As soon as I saw her I reached for her and she rushed into my arms, burying her face in my chest.

"She's sleeping again," Marcus said. "It's for the best right now."

"Will she be alright?" I asked.

"In time," Marcus said. "The worst of the crisis has passed. We'll let her go home in a few days, then all she can do is rest."

Bella let out a raw, humorless chuckle. "Home," she barked. "That's going to be tough."

"Bella, Esme wants Rosalie to come and stay at her house."

Bella lifted her head to look at Esme, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "You would do that for her?"

Esme reached an arm around Bella's shoulders. "I would do this for both of you. Bring her to me. It's where she belongs."

"Thank you," Bella whispered, trying hard not to cry.

"Bien sûr, ma chère. Je t'aime," Esme murmured softly against her hair. Bella sagged into her and I fell in love with Esme and her generous heart all over again.

Once again, I couldn't get Bella to leave Rosalie's side until nearly midnight. Rose woke up again for a short period in the early evening. I was out scouting up dinner for us and Jasper, Alice and Emmett had just left, so Bella was on her own with her. She seemed calmer and more at peace when I came back. Whatever brief conversation Bella and Rose had seemed to do a lot to put Bella at ease.

She was more alert once we got back to the garret, sitting cross-legged on the bed scratching Debussy behind the ears. I shed my shirt and climbed onto the bed next to her, letting one arm drop across her shoulders as I surreptitiously shoved Debussy to the floor with my foot. She sighed and sank back against my chest.

"Everything will be alright, love. I promise."

"I know," she murmured. "And I have you, so that makes everything better."

I smiled stupidly in spite of myself and folded her into my embrace. Bella twisted in my arms, snaking her arms around my waist and nudging up under my jaw to kiss my neck.

"Mmm, Bella," I whispered as her little fingers began pulling my undershirt out the waistband of my pants and up my chest, "that feels wonderful, but are you sure we really should be…?"

"Edward," she sighed, her voice breathy and soft, "I just want to feel good, even for a few minutes. And you make me feel good. Is that okay?"

"It's brilliant," I rasped, before I rolled her under me. We'd finally taken this step only to have the crisis with Rose descend on us immediately. I felt like there hadn't been a chance for our newfound intimacy to settle in. I was a little worried about being with Bella now in the middle of everything when she was so emotional, but she was right. Maybe it was alright to just make each other feel better, even for a little while. And I really wanted to remind Bella of just how good I could make her feel.

I went faster this time, stripping her out of her clothes immediately, with little preamble. She didn't hesitate, she just twisted to help me take them off of her before her hands fell on me, unbuttoning my pants, pushing my clothes off me in the same haste. I kissed her deeply, trying to keep myself from a full-out attack, but tonight Bella met my eagerness, arching her body underneath me, twisting her fingers in my hair, moaning softly as my fingers explored her skin.

This wasn't the slow, tender introduction of our first night together, nor was it the playful celebration of the next morning. It was urgent, intense, a little desperate. I let myself touch her, feel her, in ways I hadn't the first time, exploring her breasts and nipples, first with my fingers, then with my mouth, loving the way she moaned and writhed under me. There was so much to show Bella, so much she had never experienced and my head swam at the thought of experiencing it all with her, one incredible night at a time.

I tried to go slow, but her breathy little sounds were driving me over the edge. My hands moved on their own, pulling her legs apart, my fingers finding her sensitive center, feeling her, pushing into her. I wanted to stroke her to her climax first again tonight, but Bella blew all of that out of my mind when she slipped her little hand down between our bodies and wrapped her fingers around me. I gasped and shuddered and tried not to explode at the unexpected contact.

"It was no fair," she murmured softly in my ear. "You've touched every part of me, but I haven't touched you."

"You can…" I swallowed hard as she gave me a surprisingly firm stroke, "you're welcome to touch me anywhere you like, but if you keep on just like that this won't last much longer."

"Then show me the rest."

"What part, love?"

"The…what did you call it?"

"The…um, French letter."

"Yes, show me how it works."

I smiled a little at her forthright curiosity, but I did as she asked, retrieving it from the nightstand, showing her how it worked, how it rolled on. I did it myself though, because if she touched me like that again, I wasn't sure if I'd make it to the main event.

Bella was a marvel. I knew she was innocent, it was highly doubtful that she'd even seen an unclothed man before me, but now that we'd gotten past her initial hesitancy, she was so eager to explore and touch every inch of me. And now that she knew what it felt like to be together, she was eager for more, laying back immediately, pulling me down on top of her. I went willingly, stretching back out over her, settling between her legs and slipping inside her effortlessly. There was no more pain, she just closed her eyes and moaned, her head falling back. I moaned with her, lost in the sensation of being joined with her in this intimate way. She felt so good, indescribable. Being with her was nothing like it had ever been before for me. Maybe it was that for the first time, it wasn't just about the physical act. Being with her like this was all tied up in the feelings I had for her, I couldn't separate one from the other.

I tried to keep things slow and steady at first, holding her as close as I could, trying to make this as much about comfort as about lust. She clung to me, her hands running from my hair down to my shoulders, her nails digging into my back. She whimpered softly and whispered my name, so softly that I felt it against my neck more than I heard it. It was so erotic, hearing my name on her lips that way. It made my thinking fog over and before I knew it I was pounding against her, ravaging her. She didn't stop me, though. On the contrary, she seemed to ignite under me, meeting my aggression with her own. Her climax broke over her suddenly and she cried out, wrapping her arms around me and burying her face in my neck. Feeling her come undone was all it took to send me over the edge with her.

She was nearly asleep by the time I'd cleaned up and stretched out next to her in the bed again. I pulled her in close, settling her head on my chest. She came willingly, sighing as her legs tangled with mine and her arm slipped around my waist. I pressed a kiss against her hair, sure that she was already asleep, before I let myself be pulled under with her.

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A dull pounding on the garret door woke me the next morning. The sparse light filtering in through the window told me that it was early, far too early for Esme or Carlisle to be up on their own. That thought jarred me to full awareness. Maybe there was something wrong with Rosalie, maybe the hospital called…

I scrambled out of bed as gently as possible, trying not to wake Bella. She was so exhausted that she barely stirred, just rolling from her side to her stomach and stretching her long pale arm out across my pillow. I fished my pants and my undershirt off the floor by the foot of the bed where I'd tossed them last night and I was still fastening my pants as I cracked the door open. I jumped back when I was met by Jasper's scowling, furious face.

"Jasper? What's wrong?"

He cast a quick glance over my shoulder at Bella's sleeping form in the bed before nodding his head to the landing behind him, indicating that I should step outside. I followed him out onto the dim dusty stairs. Emmett was there, too, leaning on the railing, looking grim. The whole thing made my stomach drop with foreboding. I shut the door as softly as possible behind me.

"What the bloody hell is going on?"

"I stayed at Alice's last night and when I got home this morning, somebody had broken into my apartment. Trashed the place," Jasper was speaking in a low hiss.

"What? Did they take anything?"

"They tossed my files. I can't tell what might be missing, but I have an idea."

"What do you mean?" I muttered, feeling suddenly cold all over.

"The room was trashed, but this was lying square in the middle of the floor. No way for me to miss it."

Jasper passed me a photo. It was of Alice, sunglasses on, scarf wrapped over her hair, leaving an office building. It was taken at a little distance and Alice seemed unaware that she was being photographed.

"That's the Vogue offices where Alice works," Jasper growled.

"Bloody hell," I muttered, dragging my hands through my hair in frustration.

Emmett straightened up and cleared his throat. "I have a doorman, so nobody made it into my place but there was a…er, message left there last night."

"What did it say?"

"It said 'Sorry to have missed you, Mr. McCarty.' And it was signed Messrs Santine and Saroute. Those are the two guys you beat up in the alley."

I stared at Emmett for a moment. "They came by your place??"

"I don't know if it was them or somebody trying to let me know that they knew I was asking about them yesterday. Either way it's bad news."

"We're being warned," Jasper said. "That asshole is threatening us."

"Goddamn," I hissed, more to myself than to them. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to process all this new information.

"Nothing out of the ordinary has happened here?" Emmett asked.

"Well, it's Esme's. Everything's out of the ordinary. But no, nothing like that."

"Maybe they hit me and Emmett because we were poking around the hospital asking questions. Or maybe they're after all of us, which means your time is coming," Jasper looked steely and absolutely lethal in the dim light of the landing.

"When he figures out Rose is staying here…." I couldn't even finish the thought.

"Yeah, we've already thought about that," Jasper said. "We stopped off downstairs and had a talk with Esme and Carlisle."

"We need to circle the wagons," Emmett said darkly, "Esme's asked me to move in here for the time being. To help keep an eye on things. I'll bring my stuff over this afternoon."

I breathed a sigh of relief at the idea of another person, especially one as physically imposing as Emmett, staying at the house with us. "Thank you. But what about Alice? Bella's staying here now to be close to Rose. She's by herself at her place."

"She's moving in with me," Jasper said. Then he chuckled without humor. "Of course, she doesn't know that yet and I have no idea where we'll put all her damned clothes but we'll figure that out, I suppose."

"Thank you both. I'm sorry you've been dragged into this mess."

Emmett shrugged lightly. "Don't worry about it. I'm the one who decked the guy, and Jasper held him down for me. I'm only sorry I didn't just finish the bastard while I had the chance."

"Yeah, me too. Still, we have to put a stop to this, somehow."

Jasper and Emmett said nothing, they just nodded in grim agreement.

"You'd better watch your back and stay close to Bella." Jasper said lowly.

I nodded tightly. It made me sick to think about someone coming after Bella the way they'd come after Jasper and Emmett. "She won't leave my side," I muttered.

"I gotta go," Jasper said. "See you at the hospital later."

I gave them each a nod as they retreated down the stairs. I poked my head back into the garret, but Bella was still sleeping soundly. She needed all the rest she could get, so I slipped down the stairs to the kitchen as well. Jasper and Emmett were gone by the time I got there and there was no sign of Esme and Carlisle. The phone on the wall seemed to taunt me. It was the perfect time, I knew it. If I waited, there would be people around and I'd lose my nerve.

I took a deep breath and before I could talk myself back out of what I planned to do, I picked up the phone and dialed the operator.

"Overseas," I said, when she came on the line. "London, please."

I spit out the number from memory, amazed that after five years of not using it it was still there in my brain. There was a pause as the call was placed and the silence on the line seemed deafening. Then the phone began to ring. I nearly hung up in terror. I hadn't planned this, I had no bloody idea what to say. My breathing was getting shallow and I had just begun to pull the receiver away from my ear to hang up when I heard her voice.

"Good morning, Cullen residence."

I couldn't speak. Her voice did something to me, made my chest tighten up in some unfamiliar and completely unexpected way. My whole childhood seemed to flash in front of my eyes, my mother sitting next to me on the piano bench, teaching me scales; my mother trying to flatten my hair down on the first day of school; my mother watching me chase Kate around the backyard, arms crossed firmly over her chest; my mother weeping and clinging to my arm the last time I saw her, when I was walking out the door, leaving for Paris.

"Hello?" she prompted.

"Hello, Mum?" I finally spit out, my voice raspy.

There was what felt like an endless pause on the other end of the line. "Ed-Edward? Is that you?"

"It's me, Mum."

"Oh, Edward!" And then she was weeping uncontrollably on the line. I didn't know what to say, so I just waited. And felt like an utter shit. How could I not call my mother for five years?

"How are you, Mum?" I finally managed.

"Edward! Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Are you well, Mother?"

"I'm fine, Edward. Are you here in London? Have you come home?"

My chest twisted at the desperate hope in her voice, at her confident use of the word "home" when she said London.

"No, no, I'm still in Paris."

There was a silent pause. "Of course," her voice was colder, distant. "With them."

I sighed and closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose with my free hand. "Carlisle and Esme. Yes."

She sighed and it was heavy with unspoken words. "You belong with your family, Edward. Here in London," she finally said softly.

"They're my family," I said without thinking. Then I realized what I said, how it sounded, and quickly amended, "As well. They're my family as well."

"And what about us? What about your home here?"

"Mother," I said slowly, not sure how this had managed to go so badly so quickly, "Paris is my home. It has been for a long time."

I could hear her start to cry again and I stifled a groan.

"I just don't understand how you could turn your back on your home and your family. Just the same way Carlisle did..." she trailed off in a choked sob and I heard a rustling on the other end.

"Mother? Mum, are you there?"

"Edward?"

I closed my eyes tight. Here it was, finally.

"Hello, Father."

"Why is your mother crying? What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"I'm _fine_, Dad. She just wants me to come home."

My father cleared his throat uncomfortably and sniffed. "Yes, well…er….How are you? How are things there? How is Carlisle?"

"I'm good. He's good. Listen, Dad, I've phoned for a reason," I stopped myself and swallowed hard, hating how difficult this was. "That is, I called to say hello, but there's also something…"

"Do you need money?"

"What? No! Nothing like that!"

"What is it then?"

I suppressed a growl. Why on earth did I think this would be any different after five years? This was pointless. I wanted to hang up, but I'd started now so I had to finish.

"There's a bit of trouble here."

"You're in trouble?"

"No, not me. A friend. Well, a friend of a friend. This girl."

"You've met a girl, then?"

"No. Well, yes, I have, but she's not the one in trouble. It's her friend."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line and I was just about to ask if we'd been disconnected when he spoke again.

"What sort of trouble is she in?"

"There's this man, Royce King. She got herself mixed up with him and he's…he treated her very badly. She's in hospital right now. He hurt her. He's a bastard, and dangerous. He needs to be stopped." I paused but my father didn't say anything so I pressed on, just desperate to get this out and over with. "He's mixed up in some underhanded stuff, but nothing we can link him to directly here in France. Plus he's got loads of money and that seems to make him untouchable here. The thing is, he's English, a Londoner. I was wondering…well, I wanted to ask if, perhaps, you'd ask around a bit about him there. To see if anyone there knows something concrete about him."

I held my breath and twisted the phone cord around my thumb while I listened to the awkward silence filling up the line.

"What did you say his name was?"

"Royce King."

"I see. I don't know that I can help you, but I'll see what I can do."

I exhaled heavily. "Thanks, Dad. I'd appreciate it and I know that Bella…"

"Bella?"

I wanted to kick myself. I hadn't meant to mention her to them at all. The more they knew about her the more room they had to criticize, to disapprove. I couldn't stand the idea of that. I'd been down this road before with Kate, and I wasn't about to go down it again with Bella.

"She's…my girlfriend," I finally said, despairing that he'd just let it go at that.

"Bella. Is she Italian?"

"No, American, actually."

"Hm. American. What's she doing in Paris?"

I rolled my eyes at his pathetic digging for information. "Looking for her friend. The one who's been hurt."

"What are her plans now that she's found her? Is she staying or—"

I'd had more than enough. I didn't want to stay on the line to listen to him start to pick her apart, to start digging into her upbringing, her plans for the future, because I knew that no matter what I said, they'd disapprove of her. And since I already thought she was perfect, I really didn't care to hear them tell me all the ways in which they felt she was not. And if they knew I was planning on following her back to America.... I could scarcely imagine my mother's reaction to that. She'd always had this deperate need to keep her family close at hand, and the war had only made that worse. America...to her that would be as if I'd died.

"Look, Dad," I said, the exasperation clear in my voice, "I don't know what our plans are right now. We've been focused on Rosalie and Royce and that's still the priority. What we do next, where we go, I just don't know. But it's between Bella and me. I didn't call to ask for your approval of her. I thought with your connections that you might be able to help us out, but if you're not interested…"

"Edward." His voice was low and full of warning.

"It's alright, Dad. Don't worry about it. Give Mum my love."

I hung up. Then I kicked the wall.

Stupid idea. Why did I expect anything different? Five years and it's just the same as when I left. That was a pointless waste of time. All I did was make my mother cry and make myself angry all over again when I'd finally started to be okay with everything.

"Edward?"

I spun around at the sound of Bella's voice. She was standing at the foot of the garret stairs, wrapped in a silk robe she'd borrowed from Esme the night before. Her hair was dark and wild around her shoulders, her eyes a bit brighter now that she'd had a decent night's sleep.

"Who were you talking to?"

I held my arms out to her, beckoning her. She came forward unhesitatingly and wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her face in my chest. I rested my cheek on her head, inhaling, smelling the faint floral scent of her hair. I loved how well she fit there, just the right height to tuck her head under my chin. We were like puzzle pieces made to slot together. Perfect. She's perfect.

"No one. I wasn't talking to anyone, love."

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**A/N: Thanks for reading! Some of you may know that we've got a couple of outtakes planned for this story. Well, if you're enjoying French Esme in this story, spanglemaker9 started posting a little side-shot story about Esme's experiences in World War 2 called La Résistance. The first chapter is up here on FF. Expect it to be around seven chapters long and it's mostly written already. So give it a read!**

**http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5723397/1/La_Resistance**

**Or you can find it on spanglemaker9's profile.**

**Like GwaRU, there's a Live Journal page with photos, music and more.**

**http://resistance-esme(dot)livejournal(dot)com/**


	21. Two Sisters

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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"She looks awful," I said sadly, looking down at Rose's sleeping face.

Edward squeezed my hand but didn't say anything. We were sitting in what had become a familiar position: me perched at the top of Rose's hospital bed, him behind me, watching over us and making sure that no one but the doctors and our friends got into the room. He had been particularly tense since the episode with Royce in the hallway...not that I blamed him. We were all tense. Jasper and Emmett hovered around the hospital, not coming into Rose's room but always present on the edges. The two of them had developed an odd sort of friendship over the last several days. Despite the situation, or perhaps because of it, Jasper had been more personable, if not more talkative.

Rose was only periodically awake and lucid enough to talk. She flinched away from all of the men, even Marcus and Carlisle. It was heartbreaking to see what my confident, beautiful friend had been reduced to. Her bruises were fading from purple into a stomach churning blue-green, making her look sickly and broken. She was a shadow. And the doctors were sending her home with us today.

The sedatives they had her on made her groggy and compliant, despite her almost constant fright. I got her to agree to come home with me only by promising she would be staying at the home of a lady friend of mine with constant access to medical care so she wouldn't have to return to the hospital, and that I would stay with her as long as it took. Edward was ecstatic with the arrangement. I thought he was going to start doing back flips when I asked if it was all right with him if I stayed in his garret until Rose was well enough to travel.

He had picked me up and spun me in a circle, laughing delightedly when I squealed for him to put me down. We kissed breathlessly, but when I pulled away his smile was only half-hearted.

"How long before you think we'll leave?" he asked softly. "Before Rose is ready, that is?"

"We'll figure it out," I sighed, hugging his waist tightly and hiding my face in his chest. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Edward didn't want to leave, and that he was willing to sacrifice everything he knew for the sake of our relationship. I didn't like it, but I couldn't see an alternative. It didn't seem fair. I had come to Paris to find Rosalie, but I had found so much more than that. I had built a life here, only to have it ripped out from under me as soon as I got comfortable. If we stuck around for too long, there was always the danger that Royce would find us and things would get dangerous again. It was a no-win situation for all of us.

"Does she have any belongings?" Esme asked. I turned around and saw her standing in the doorway, bright red lipstick flawlessly applied and a stylish hat perched on her head.

"No, nothing," I said. I pushed a lock of her blond hair off Rosalie's forehead. "Alice left something for her to wear when we take her home, and she's out putting together a care package with toiletries and other pieces of clothing."

Alice had come to see Rose every day, but only once while Rose was awake. The two of them had had a stilted conversation, with Alice trying to be cheerful while tiptoeing around the elephant in the room. After her panicked apology to me when she woke up, Rose hadn't wanted to talk about Royce. She would only say that he was violent and repeat that all she had wanted to do was keep Alice and me far away from him. It didn't explain why she had left initially, and she absolutely wouldn't talk about her baby. To be honest, she didn't talk much at all. It scared me.

"Marcus said that she would be ready to leave after she woke up," Edward said. "He's getting us a wheel chair to take her home in."

Rose's eyelids flickered a little, and she stirred.

"Rose," I whispered, placing my palm on her forehead. "Rose, it's time to wake up. We're going to take you home."

"Home," she murmured. A sleepy smile crossed her face, the first one I'd seen on her since she left Forks, and then she opened her eyes and it was replaced with a familiar look of fear and mistrust. "Bella?"

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Her eyes flicked up to Edward, and he took a step back, releasing my hand and sighing a little. It disturbed him when she looked at him like that, but I thought that with what she had gone through it wasn't an unreasonable reaction. He was a stranger to her. Once she got to know him, I hoped they could become friends.

She cleared her throat and sat up slowly. "What time is it?"

"It's about three in the afternoon, jolie," Esme said, walking briskly into the room. She patted Edward's shoulder lightly and gave him an understanding smile. "Marcus could use your help with that chair, Edward. Terrible, clunky old thing."

He nodded and left quickly. Once he was gone, Rose propped herself fully, not making eye contact with me or Esme.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am, Madame Benoit," she said, her voice flat and lifeless.

"Bah! You must call me Esme. I could never let you fend for yourself, chérie." Esme smiled softly and sat at the foot of the bed. "You will be safe with me and Carlisle. We'll have you on your feet in no time."

Rose nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Excuse me, ladies," Marcus said, wheeling a large, wooden wheelchair into the room. "Mademoiselle Hale, how are you feeling this morning?"

I took his arrival as my cue to leave. "I'll be right outside," I whispered to Rose, squeezing her hand gently. "As soon as Marcus gives the okay we'll take you home."

She nodded silently. I kissed her forehead and stepped outside, following Esme. Edward was leaning against the wall in the hallway with his eyes closed. When he heard us approach, he opened his eyes and gave me a crooked half smile. He reached out his arms and I stepped into them quickly, letting him comfort me.

"It's going to be okay," he murmured. He pressed a few sweet kisses into my hair.

"What if Royce comes back?"

"Let's just take things as they come." His tone was soothing, but his face was troubled and he wouldn't meet my eyes.

"What aren't you telling me?" I whispered. He glanced at Esme and then plastered a smile on his face.

"Nothing, love. Everything is just fine."

"Why don't I believe you?"

Alice came around the corner then, followed by Emmett and Jasper. Emmett was carrying a large bag on one shoulder.

"Are we ready to blow this joint?" Emmett said, grinning at the two of us.

"Rose is getting her last check up and then we're going to take her to Esme's," I answered, still looking at Edward.

"I set up that guest room just like you asked, Esme," Alice said. "And Carlisle is waiting with a hot pot of tea."

Jasper snorted. "Tea. That'll make everything better."

"My mum always thought so," Edward said, then bit the inside of his cheek as if he'd said too much.

Marcus walked out into the hall and softly shut the door behind him.

"She's ready to leave," he said. "Can one of you gentlemen help me get her into the chair?"

"I think it would be best if the girls and I did that," Esme said. He considered that for a moment, then nodded.

"Of course. Please give Carlisle my regards, Esme. We'll have to get together soon under more pleasant circumstances."

"Our door is always open, you know that. You're welcome any time."

She kissed him on the cheek and then strode purposefully into Rose's room. "Come, girls."

Between the three of us, it wasn't difficult to lift Rose into the chair. She had lost weight, despite her pregnancy, and her arms and legs were spindly. She winced when I inadvertently touched some of her bruises, but otherwise didn't say anything. Esme arranged a blanket over her lap, all business and charm. I had no idea where she got her constant supply of strength, but it amazed me every day. She was telling Rose about her home and all her favorite neighborhood haunts.

"And when you feel well enough, chérie, I will introduce you to my friends. They will adore you."

"Esme's parties are a gas, Rose," Alice interjected. "You'll just love them."

Rose snapped her head up. "No more parties," she said, with more life in her voice than I'd heard so far. "No more parties, no fancy dresses, no more."

Esme took it in stride, sweeping Rose's hair behind her shoulder, and starting to push her out of the room. "Of course. No one will make you do anything you do not wish to do ever again. I will see to that."

When we left the room, Edward, Jasper, and Emmett were standing in a tight huddle, talking in low voices. They stopped talking immediately at the sound of the squeaky wheels of Rose's chair.

"There she is," Emmett said, beaming down at Rose. "How are you feeling?"

She looked up at him uncertainly. "Do I know you?"

"We've met," he answered, shifting the bag on his shoulder a little and bending over to extend a hand towards her. She flinched but accepted it tentatively. "Emmett McCarty. I'm a good friend of Edward's. I'm going to be staying at Esme's for a while."

I narrowed my eyes and glanced between Edward and Emmett, but Edward kept his face carefully blank, and Emmett's smile didn't waver.

Her eyes traveled over to Edward, then to Jasper. "Who is he?" she asked, her voice wavering a little less.

"That's Jasper," Emmett answered, straightening up. "He's a lot less scary than he looks." Jasper scowled and punched Emmett's arm, but Emmett just laughed and pulled a face at him in response.

"Enough, boys," Esme said firmly. Emmett winked and then turned back to Rose.

"This chair is awfully heavy, Rose. Would you mind if I pushed you back to Esme's? No one is going to do anything you're uncomfortable with, but we'll get there faster if I do the driving."

She looked from Emmett to me. I smiled and nodded encouragingly.

"Okay."

On the walk back to Esme's, Emmett, Esme and Alice kept up a steady stream of cheerful conversation. Rose didn't say much, but I thought I saw a smile on her face a couple of times.

"Why is Emmett moving into Esme's?" I asked Edward as we trailed behind the others.

"He's over all the time anyway, he might as well move in," he joked lightly.

"Edward," I growled. I grabbed his hand and he looked me in the eye, his smile falling slightly.

"We'll talk about it later," he said evasively.

"But—"

"Trust me, Bella. Please?"

I stared him down for a minute, but it was obvious he still wasn't going to tell me about whatever it was he was hiding. Now he was asking me to trust him, to be patient. To wait.

"Okay," I grumbled. "But this isn't over."

He kissed my cheek and we followed silently after the others.

The room Alice had set up for Rose was bright and colorful. Silk pillows covered the bed, and two big windows faced the back garden.

"Is the room to your liking?" Esme asked, gesturing that Emmett should roll her to the window. "Much better than that sterile, stuffy hospital room."

Rose nodded and looked out the window. "Thank you. I'd like to be left alone, please."

A flicker of concern crossed Esme's face, but she nodded. "Of course. Follow me, children."

Carlisle waited in the kitchen, looking older and more tired than I had ever seen him. When Esme walked in, he smiled and stood.

"Is she all settled?" he asked.

Esme smiled softly and walked to join him. "Yes."

"Thank you," I said, speaking to both of him. "For letting her stay, and for letting me stay as well."

"Ce n'est rien," she said. "There was never a question. I had no choice. For now, you must be there for your friend. This is a difficult time for her."

Over the next several days, I did my best to follow Esme's advice. Alice and I set up shifts: when one of us was working, the other stayed with Rose. When both of us needed to be out, Esme stepped in. Emmett was another frequent visitor, though he was never alone with her. He brought her books and flowers and other colorful baubles, always trying to engage her in conversation. Most of the time, she stayed silent.

"It's unbearable," I said. Edward and I were in his garret, a week after we brought Rose home. "She won't talk to me, not about Royce or anything else. When I mention going home she clams up even further."

I sat on the bed with a sigh. We were getting ready to go to bed, and I was wearing one of the little night dresses Alice got for me. Edward sat behind me, rubbing my bare shoulders.

"I wish I could help, but she doesn't seem to be terribly fond of me."

I turned to him and kissed him softly, putting my palm to his cheek. He leaned into my touch slightly. "I'm sorry. I've told her about you, about us. It's like she doesn't even hear me. She just stares out the window. The only time I see her react to anything is when Emmett stops by her room. Even then, it's not like he's making her smile. She's just not completely blank."

"She's been through a lot," he mumbled, eyes downcast. "I understand, even if I don't like it."

"I wish I knew _what_ she's been through, but she won't tell me!" I stood and started pacing. "And how long before Royce finds her here? He doesn't seem like the type to give up easily. He talked about her like she was something he owned." I shuddered, and Edward came to stand by me. He stopped me, placing both his hands on my shoulders and stooping so we were eye to eye.

"Let me worry about Royce, alright?" he said. "You focus on your friend."

I sighed and nodded, but he didn't let me go. "I mean it, Bella. We're past the point where you can go scampering off on your own and play the hero. If you keep doing crazy things, something is going to happen to you. You're going to get hurt. Do you understand?"

His eyes burned into mine, fierce and solemn. "What aren't you telling me? Why is Emmett really staying here?" I asked tentatively. I knew he was hiding something from me, I just didn't know what. Every time I had tried to bring it up, he squashed the topic swiftly or distracted me. "What's happened?"

He sighed and wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tightly. "Promise me first. Promise me you'll let me keep you safe. Tell me I can trust you."

"Edward you're scaring me. I promise, okay? I won't go near him again, I promise." When he didn't loosen his grip, I whispered, "I swear. Just _tell me_."

"The morning after we took Rose to the hospital, Jasper and Emmett came to see me," he said quietly.

I scrunched my eyebrows together, trying to remember. "No they didn't."

"You were asleep." He walked us back to the bed and pulled me into his lap. He arranged us so that my back was to his chest and my head was resting on his shoulder. "Someone broke into Jasper's apartment and trashed the place. That same night, someone left a note for Emmett with his doorman, signed by the two men who attacked you outside of Alice's place."

"I don't understand."

"It was a message, Bella," he said, frustration coloring his tone. "A warning. Emmett and Jasper were trying to track them down, to find out more about who they associate with and what they wanted. We may have scared Royce off for a time, but I don't believe for one minute that he's gone for good. Now, we're making arrangements to have this place protected, just in case someone targets us here, and we're going to do what we can. That's why Emmett's moved in. But I can't be worrying about you all the time. If you see anything that worries you, if you even _think _there might be danger, you have to make sure you're not alone. Will you do that for me? Do you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you," I whispered, turning in his lap. He kissed me feverishly, and I let him pull me down to the bed, comforting him with my touch the best I could.

The next morning, I didn't have to work at the café. Edward walked with me to Rose's room, kissing me gently and hugging me before heading down the stairs to the kitchen. I missed spending my mornings at the market with him, and our afternoons on the river, but Rose was the most important thing right now.

"Good morning, Rose," I said brightly. She was sitting up in bed, a tray with bread and jam next to her on her bedside table. "How are you this morning?"

I said the same thing every morning, and she never answered, so I was taken aback when she responded, "Royce was sweet at first too."

Her voice was rough from disuse. I crossed the room quickly and sat next to her.

"What do you mean, sweetheart?"

"Your English boy," she said, staring out the door where Edward had stood moments before. "Royce started that way. Sweet, attentive. _Loving_." She spit out the last worst with venom in her voice.

"Edward isn't like Royce," I said immediately. "He's been helping me since I met him. I wouldn't have found you without him. I've told you all about him, remember? He loves me."

She snorted and looked out the window. I wasn't ready for her to stop talking, though. I picked up her hair brush and motioned for her to turn. She sighed but let me start to brush out her curls.

"How did you meet Royce?"

There was a long pause, and I was afraid that she had decided she didn't want to talk to me again, but then she cleared her throat.

"I met him at a school social shortly after I got to Paris. He was there with another girl, but we spent the whole night talking, and afterwards he took me out for coffee and dessert. He was a perfect gentleman."

She paused and wiped a few tears from the corners of her eyes. "He asked to see me again. I agreed; why wouldn't I? He was handsome and kind. I told him about school and home, about Alice and you. He told me..." She took a deep breath. "He told me that school was a waste of my time and money. I wouldn't need an education to be a wife and mother. He was very convincing.

"I stopped going to class. I think Alice knew, but she didn't say anything. She was busy with her job at the magazine. She asked to meet him a couple of times, but Royce didn't think that was a good idea. He told me that she was a bad influence. He said she didn't live like a respectable woman should. "

I made an angry noise in the back of my throat, and she looked up at me with wide eyes.

"I loved him, Bella. At least, I thought I did. All those things I told you about in my letters were true—he treated me like a princess. Sometimes he acted odd, but I brushed it off. He didn't like me talking to the other men at the parties we went to. He said it was because they couldn't be trusted, but soon he was getting upset when I spoke to anyone. He wanted me to prove that I loved him."

She looked away from me. "He didn't force me. I let him do it to me, I thought it would be the proof he needed. But after we... afterwards he was worse. He told me that you would never understand our life here. He demanded that I stop writing to you. You were a part of my life before. He said I had to get rid of everything from before."

I winced, remembering how my mother had explained her drop in correspondence.

"That was how he got convinced me to move out of Alice's place." She kept speaking, the words flooding out of her. It was like now that she had started telling me her story, she wouldn't stop until she had said everything there was to say. "He took me to stay in that house because he said it wouldn't look proper to live together until we were married.

"I think it was convenient for him to have me there. He would meet men there, receive packages. When he wasn't around, I would entertain them, although sometimes he was still furious when he saw me talking to them. I started to find out more about his business. The men who came to that house scared me, but by then I didn't have anybody else. That's when he started to get...rough."

I set the hairbrush down and climbed into bed with her. She turned into me and snuggled into my side. We lay there quietly. I rubbed her back as she struggled to control her breathing.

"At first he just pushed me."

Her words were a little muffled by my blouse, but I didn't want to move. I just let her talk.

"It was almost accidental. He always apologized. He told me that he didn't mean to. Then he started to grab me. He'd leave marks on my arms and legs. I started wearing longer skirts and dresses with long sleeves. Then one day... he slapped me."

She closed her eyes tightly and more tears leaked out.

"I told him I didn't want to attend a party that night. I was tired. He slapped me across my face and then told me that it was my fault, that I should have done as he asked and it wouldn't have happened."

I rocked her gently, furious that something so horrible could happen, to Rose of all people.

"After that night I was going to leave. I couldn't imagine living like that anymore. I was going to leave him and go home. That's when I found out I was pregnant.

"I couldn't leave then. Don't you see? I had to do what I could for my baby. I thought... I thought even Royce was better than no father at all. I had to be smart. I couldn't afford to make him angry now that there was a child involved."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this when I visited?" I whispered.

"Don't you see?" she said again, desperately. "If he had found you there, he would have hurt you, maybe even killed you. You don't know what he's capable of. I couldn't let him know that you had found me. I had to protect you."

"It's okay," I soothed. "I understand. I forgive you. Shhhh."

"It didn't matter," she cried. "Last week I had finally had enough. I told him I was leaving him. I was going to find you. He snapped. I thought I was going to die... I would have deserved it for what I did to you and what I exposed my child to. And now my baby's gone."

She wept openly, tears streaming down her cheeks and disappearing into her pillowcase and soaking my blouse. "It's only a matter of time until he finds me. There's nothing anybody can do anymore."

"That's not true." Esme stepped forward into the room, and Rose and I looked up in surprise. She smiled sadly. "I am sorry, I did not mean to eavesdrop."

"What did you hear?" Rose asked dully.

"Enough." Esme sat in the chair I had just vacated. "Did Bella tell you that I'm married?"

Rose sat up a little and wiped her eyes. "You're married to Carlisle, of course."

Esme laughed. "No. Not to Carlisle. When I was 16 years old, my parents arranged for me to marry a man named Pierre Benoit. He was in his late 20s, and he had enough money to take care of me. He certainly had more money than my parents." She paused, then looked Rose straight in the eye. "We weren't married more than a year before he started to beat me."

Rose closed her eyes and turned away, but Esme leaned forward and grabbed her hand, forcing Rose to look at her.

"There was nothing for me to do. He was my husband before the law and in the eyes of God. The priest in my village urged me to obey my husband's will. My parents believed that I was lying; I was not quiet about my objections to the marriage."

She spoke matter-of-factly about these past horrors, staring Rose down.

"I lost a child too," she said softly. "My husband got a little...enthusiastic with his fists one night and I went into an early labor. A little boy. I did not love my husband, but I loved that child with all my heart. He was born early, too tiny." She got a haunted, faraway look in her eyes, and a lone tear trailed down her cheek. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"He took a piece of me with him when he went. I knew in that moment that I could not stay. If I had stayed there a moment longer I would have joined my sweet boy in the churchyard before another year had passed. And so I left."

Despite the fact that Rose had begun all this by telling me her story, I felt like I was intruding on something sacred. She and Esme were connected by a common bond of pain and lost motherhood I couldn't begin to understand.

"What did you do?" Rose whispered.

"I came to Paris," Esme said.

"All alone?"

"Yes, all alone. I was not as fortunate as you." She smiled warmly at me and patted Rose's hand. "I made it. I survived, and not only that, ma chère, but I flourished. I became Esme Benoit, muse and lover of the arts. I built a family of sorts out of my friends here in Paris. My husband took away any chance of normal family, I'm afraid. I can't have children of my own anymore, but I managed nonetheless."

"But you're still married to him?"

Esme waved a glittering hand. "A technicality. The church frowns on divorce."

"Did he... did he ever come looking for you?"

"Once, about a year after I came to Paris. By then I was living in this house with a dear friend. I relied on my friends to shelter me and keep me safe."

She laughed suddenly. "Don't let anyone tell you that artists are weak or spineless. My ragtag group of painters and poets gave that _fils de pute_ quite a welcome. I never heard from him again."

"Pain is a part of life," she said, serious again. "It is what makes us human; it shapes us the same as love and laughter. You don't have to forget, but you cannot let it destroy you. Conquer the pain, don't let it conquer you."

Rose leaned back on her pillows and closed her eyes. "I'm tired," she said quietly.

Esme smiled and placed a hand on her forehead. "Sleep. Bella and I will let you rest."

I kissed Rose's cheek and followed Esme out the door. She closed it behind us and then turned to me.

"I don't know what to do for her," I said. Esme smiled sympathetically and put her arm around my waist, leading me down the stairs.

"You are doing a wonderful job," she assured me. "She just needs time. Time, and understanding. Can you give that to her?"

"Of course I can," I said immediately.

"Good girl. Edward is still downstairs, why don't the two of you go out for a bit? I'll keep Rose company. Emmett will be home soon as well. She won't be alone."

When we got to the kitchen, Edward was sitting there with Carlisle talking seriously. He turned when we entered and beamed at me.

"How would you feel about going for a walk with me?" I asked him. He jumped to his feet.

"That sounds perfect," he said. "You spend too much time holed up in that room upstairs."

He reached out for my hand, and with his touch the panic and sadness I had felt upstairs evaporated. It was always like that with Edward.

"We'll be back," Edward called as he led me out of the kitchen. "Where would you like to go?"

"Can we just walk?" I looked up at him, and he smiled. "Wander the streets without a plan?"

He laughed. "How about we wander over by the river?"

I shrugged. "Okay."

We ended up at a bench by the Tuileries, quietly watching the river flow past us. We hadn't spoken much as we walked. I was reflecting on everything Rose and Esme had said. It was almost too much to process in one sitting. There was so much danger in the world. Before, I had thought that the worst fate I could suffer was a life of boredom in a little town. Jacob looked like a prize next to Royce and Esme's husband. And Edward...

Edward sat silently, not pushing conversation, content to hold me for a while in the bright sunshine. He was the picture of patience. He loved me with his words and his actions every day. He would give anything to protect me. He was willing to give up everything he knew. And I gave him barely anything in return.

I felt like crying when I thought about how much I held back with him. I gave him my body, but he deserved my heart and soul. No, that wasn't right. He had my heart and soul. He just didn't know he had them.

I cleared my throat and he looked down at me in concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm wonderful," I said. I turned on the bench and wrapped my arms around him, my legs half in his lap. "Edward, I need to tell you something."

He lifted one eyebrow at me, concern painting his features even as he smiled at me. "What is it? You can tell me anything."

"I just wanted you to know..."

It was ridiculous that these three words were so difficult to say. I wondered if it was because I had never said them to anyone but my parents before or if it was just nerves. I looked into his eyes and steeled myself.

"Edward, I love you."

His eyebrows got impossibly higher before he broke out in a brilliant smile.

"Say it again," he begged.

"I love you," I said, more forcefully this time. His smile grew, and he ducked down to kiss me. His lips were urgent on mine, and I forgot that we were on a public bench, sitting in full view of passersby, as his arms wrapped around me and my feet left the ground.

After a few minutes of breathless kissing, he pulled away laughing. "I love you," he said fervently. His green eyes sparkled down at me.

I laughed delightedly. Saying the words out loud had lifted a weight from my chest. I felt light and free. We practically skipped home, lost in our own world of smiles and murmured declarations. The sun was setting when we arrived back. Edward pushed through the front door, still grinning from ear to ear. He pulled me into the kitchen and then stopped abruptly.

"Edward, what—"

I looked up and registered that there were three people in the kitchen instead of the two I expected. Carlisle and Esme stood near the center of the room, facing an unfamiliar man. It was this man that Edward was staring it, his expression frozen.

The man was tall, taller than Carlisle and almost as tall as Edward. His dark brown hair was carefully parted on the side and slicked back. He looked vaguely familiar; there was something about the slope of his nose and the pout in his lips. He turned toward Edward and me. After giving me a cursory glance, he stared at Edward. His eyes seemed to take in every little detail, full of some strange unnamed emotion.

Finally, Edward spoke.

"Dad?"

I gasped and dropped Edward's hand in shock. It came together then, the familiar features of his father were reflected in Edward's face, and to some extent, in Carlisle's.

"Edward," the man said. "It's... it's good to see you, son."

It was clear to me that his father was nearly overcome with emotion, but Edward seemed to harden at the sound of his father's voice. He took a half a step in front of me and addressed him.

"What are you doing here?"

"You called me because you needed help," he explained. "You're my only child. You didn't expect me to just ignore that, did you?"

Edward pressed his lips into a thin line, and his father turned his gaze to me. He smiled at me. It was an echo of his son's smile, genuine and warm.

"You must be Bella," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear."

I looked from Edward to his father and back again. When Edward made no move to speak, I stepped around him and extended a hand. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

Amusement sparked in his eyes, but he took my hand and shook it. "That's a firm handshake you have. Edward tells me you're American. Where are you from?"

"Washington State."

"I've never had the pleasure of visiting the States," he said, looking over my shoulder at Edward. I turned to see what he was staring at. Edward was glaring now, not bothering to cover up his disdain.

"I haven't spent much time outside my hometown, I'm afraid." Edward's frozen scowl was starting to worry me. "I like Paris very much, though."

"And how long have you been in Paris, Bella?"

The question seemed to snap Edward out of his stupor.

"I don't know why you're here, Father," he started.

"I already told you—"

"But Bella and I have plans for the evening. I'm sorry, but whatever you've come to say will just have to wait."

I turned to him with wide eyes. "What are you talking about?" I hissed.

"Come, Bella," he insisted. He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the stair. It was all I could do to give Mr. Cullen a nod as we left the kitchen. He smiled sadly as he watched us go.

When we got to the top of the stair, Edward made straight for the bottle of scotch that he kept high on a shelf. He splashed a few inches into a glass and collapsed into a chair. I watched in disbelief as he threw back the glass and drank it in one gulp. He stared at the empty glass, then grabbed the bottle again. Before he could pour more liquor into the glass, I strode across the room and put my hand on top of his.

"Stop," I commanded. His eyes were clouded and angry, but they softened as he looked at me.

"Stop," I said again. I pushed the glass and the bottle away and got closer. "I don't understand why you're so angry, Edward. Why is he here? What did he mean about you calling him?"

He took a deep breath and sighed. "It's a long story."

I smiled and sat down on one of the rickety kitchen chairs. "I have time."

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**A/N: The plot thickens yet again! Thanks for reading.  
**

**Spanglemaker9 and I have both been voted VIP authors on adifferentforest(dot)com! Soon we'll have author forums (we'll each have our own and then we'll have a shared one) and our fics, including Girl with a Red Umbrella, will be posted on that site. We're not going anywhere, you can still find us on fanfiction(dot)net and twilighted(dot)net. It's just another place to find us!  
**


	22. It's Been a Long Long Time

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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I pulled the bottle out of Bella's grasp and managed to refill my glass before she snatched it back away from me. I sighed and tossed back the scotch, welcoming the burn in my throat, welcoming the way it blunted my raging emotions.

Bella had settled back in the kitchen chair, staring at me expectantly.

When I said nothing more, she huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Tell me what's going on, Edward."

"It's nothing. I called him last week to see if he could hunt up any information on Royce for us. But it…well, it wasn't a great conversation, I suppose you could say."

"What does that mean? What did he say?"

I threw my hands up in the air in disgust. "Oh, all the usual rubbish."

"Edward, talk to me. What's the usual rubbish? I know you have a difficult history with your father, but I'm not sure I understand what's going on now. Why are you so angry with him?"

"I called to ask him for help with Royce and he was more interested in judging me on my life and the choices I've made. But that's nothing new. It was stupid of me to expect anything different."

Bella sat back, her eyebrows knit together. "But…Edward, I know you're saying he wasn't interested in helping us, but he's _here_. He just dropped everything and came to France because you said you were in trouble. To me, that says he cares quite a lot."

"Yes, but Bella, didn't you see what he was like down there? How he was with you? Asking you all that stuff about your hometown and what you're doing here in Paris? You don't know him like I do. He was judging you, and by extension, me."

Bella snorted abruptly. "Edward, you're being absolutely ridiculous. He was perfectly lovely. He was just being polite. Forgive me for saying so, but I think you're a little overly sensitive where he's concerned. I know that a lot of things happened with Kate and I wasn't there for that and didn't see what happened. But I saw him for myself tonight and Edward, your father cares for you. He came here because you said you were in trouble and he wants to help. That's what parents do."

I didn't say anything for a long moment as I digested what she said. I still thought he disapproved of Bella. She was too kind and unquestioning to see that for herself. But what she said about him showing up here… she might have had a point about that. He did come. That might mean something.

Bella leaned forward and took my right hand in both of hers. "Can we go back down and talk to him again? He might actually know something about Royce. You didn't let us stick around long enough to find out."

That made me feel like an utter prat, because she was right. I was so caught up in all my old bitterness and anger that I lost sight of the big picture. We still had to deal with Royce and he might be able to help.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "I'm sorry, Bella. A lot of really bad stuff happened between us and it's not something I can let go of easily."

"I'm not asking you to let it all go. At least not this instant. Just come downstairs and talk to him. See what he has to say. Just give him a chance, Edward. He might surprise you."

I secretly thought that was extremely unlikely, but I nodded my head reluctantly. She was right; I had to go talk to him. She leapt to her feet and pulled on my hand, dragging me up out of the chair.

"I'm not promising anything, but I'll talk to him and see what he has to say. That's all."

She leaned up and kissed me on the cheek. "That's all I'm asking." I smiled back down at her, summoning her words in my mind again. _I love you_. She loved me. My heart felt like it would explode with the knowledge. And armed with that, I felt like I could face anything that waited for me in the kitchen.

I sighed and let her pull me along after her and down the garret stairs.

I re-entered the kitchen right behind Bella, looking around cautiously. My father was still there, sitting at the table with Carlisle and Esme with a cup of tea in front of him. All three heads swiveled towards us expectantly as we came in. I half-expected my father to start yelling as soon as I made a reappearance, but he didn't. He just watched me, perhaps a bit hopefully. I had no idea what to say, but Bella seemed to sense that and started talking as soon as we made it in the door, her voice a little high and falsely bright.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Cullen. Edward thought we had something urgent to get to, but he was mixed up about the days."

"I'm so happy to hear that. Will you two sit down then so we can catch up?" He was smiling at Bella, nothing but polite goodwill on his face. She smiled back and readily crossed the kitchen to take a seat in the chair across from him. I followed more slowly, crossing behind her, letting my fingers linger on her shoulder as I fell into the chair at her side. My father's eyes flickered to me and then away. Silence stretched out and it began to feel awkward in the kitchen.

"Why don't I make another pot of tea?" Carlisle said smoothly, rising and heading for the stove. Esme murmured her assent and Bella nodded. The silence came back right away, though, and I was determined not to be the one to break it. Bella turned her head to look at me, eyebrows raised expectantly. I just scowled back and leaned back in my chair. She huffed softly and turned to give my father another polite smile.

We were all saved from the endless awkward silence by the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut and Emmett's loud voice booming through the first floor.

"Knock, knock! Anybody home?"

"In here, Emmett, darling!" Esme called back. As Emmett's footsteps grew louder I could make out the low chatter of Alice's voice, too. Emmett entered the kitchen with both Alice and Jasper in tow. All three of them stopped short, looking mildly surprised to find so many people in the kitchen when it was so quiet.

"Everyone is here!" Esme cried, standing and crossing to Alice, kissing her cheek.

"I came by to check on Rose," Alice explained, glancing curiously at the kitchen table.

"I brought these," Emmett waved a bunch of daisies he was carrying, "thought they might cheer her up, you know?"

"How kind, darling," Esme said, patting his arm, "I'm sure she will love them."

"We didn't know you had company or we'd have knocked for once!" Alice laughed.

"Ce ne rien," Esme said with a shrug. "This is Carlisle's brother and Edward's father, Edward Cullen, Sr."

Three pairs of eyes shot at me in surprise. I just shrugged and looked away.

"Edward," Esme said to my father, "These are some of Edward and Bella's friends, Alice, Emmett and Jasper."

My dad stood and Emmett crossed the room in a flash, all big smiles and firm handshakes. Alice went to help Carlisle with the tea and Esme started directing Jasper to pull up some more chairs.

"What brings you to Paris, Mr. Cullen?" Emmett asked, "Aside from Edward here."

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. When Alice stepped up to Bella's side to set down her tea the two of them had one of those silent eyebrow/ scowling conversations they sometimes had. I felt like there were two entirely different conversations happening in the room. The one you could hear which was all polite introductions and how-do-you-take-your-tea? And the other was the silent one, full of questions and resentment and lots of things left unspoken.

My father cleared his throat and leaned forward on his elbows.

"Well, Eddie called me and asked me to look into someone for him. Said he'd gotten a friend of his into a spot of trouble."

Emmett sat back in his chair beaming, looking from my father to me. "You call him Eddie, too?"

"Shut up, Emmett," I snapped. Emmett just chuckled and winked at me. He bloody winked.

"How is your friend, dear?" my father was asking Bella, his face all concern and consternation.

"She's doing much better, thank you. Well, physically anyway. She's staying here, actually. Upstairs."

My father shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his eyes darting to the ceiling. His reaction to the news that Rosalie was so nearby made me edgy, so I decided to just plunge in and start talking, so we could move this nightmare along.

"Have you heard anything, Dad?"

He cleared his throat again before exchanging a brief glance with Carlisle. "Yes, actually."

Alice and Jasper sank into chairs behind Bella and I. Everyone busied their hands with their teacups, waiting for my father to continue.

"I began to make discreet inquiries right after your call, Eddie. The first thing I found out is that Royce King is married and has a family in England."

Bella and Alice gasped in unison, and Bella clamped a hand down over her mouth. I groaned and reached out to take her other hand. Just when it seemed the news couldn't get any worse, it always seemed to.

"That rat bastard!" Alice hissed.

"Poor Rose," Bella whispered.

"Well, it's not like there's a chance in hell that _she's_ going to marry him at this point, so what the hell does it matter?" Emmett growled, his face stormy.

"It will break her heart. He lied to her, betrayed her right from the start," Bella said softly. "There wasn't a moment that he ever really cared for her."

Emmett huffed and shifted in his chair, muttering under his breath, something that sounded like "Fucking kill the bastard."

"We have to tell her, Alice," Bella murmured.

"I know," Alice said quietly, her hand on Bella's shoulder.

"Tomorrow," Bella murmured. "She was really upset this morning. I don't want to push her too much."

Alice nodded her assent.

I leaned forward, gripping Bella's hand tighter. "What else?" I asked my father.

He sat back and looked at his hands. "It was quite difficult to find out anything of substance about the man. He comes from a good family, very respectable, very old. But they've run short of money this last generation. He's had to make his own way. There were lots of insinuations that he took a less than honorable route to that, but nothing concrete, I'm afraid. He seems to be quite good at glossing over his misdeeds with a veneer of respectability."

Jasper snorted, "Yeah, we've encountered the same thing here."

"Have you spoken to the authorities? At least about this last sad bit of business with…I'm sorry, what is your friend's name?"

His question was directed at Bella but Emmett answered first, "Rosalie."

"Lovely name," my father smiled, "Rosalie. Has she spoken with the authorities about what happened?"

"No, we—" Bella began, but Emmett cleared his throat to interrupt her. We all turned to look at him.

"Well," he said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck in discomfort, "I might have done that."

"You did?" I asked. "When did this happen?"

"When Rose was first taken to the hospital. We were there all night. Me and Jasper were just waiting. So we took off to the local gendarmes station."

"I can't believe you didn't tell us, Em," I said, straightening up in my chair, wondering why the hell he'd withheld this from us.

"I didn't want to upset the girls any more than they already were."

"Why would we have been upset?" Alice said sharply, cutting her eyes from Jasper to Emmett and back again.

Jasper growled and pushed back from the table. "The assholes wouldn't do a goddamn thing. Sorry, ladies," he said gruffly, once he realized what kind of language he'd just used. "It was a domestic disturbance between two non-citizens so they said it was none of their concern. I guess the fact that the bastard nearly beat her to death was beside the point!"

Bella's face flushed with anger and her eyes glistened. I was afraid she might cry. I touched her shoulder but she shrugged me off, shaking her head fiercely.

"So it seems we're really on our own with this," she hissed.

"We've got to put a stop to this bastard," Emmett said. "There's got to be some way to get at him, a weak spot somewhere."

My father cleared his throat again. "I'd suggest you shift your focus from Mr. King to his associates."

"What do you mean?" I asked. For just a moment, the surreal nature of this moment swirled around me: that after five years of silence, I was sitting at Esme's kitchen table having a conversation with my father. I knew the circumstances that had brought us here were unusual, but I still never thought we'd manage this. And I had to admit, so far Bella was right. He was just trying to help us.

"Royce King seems to have done a good job of insulating himself from the scrutiny of the authorities, both in England and here. But surely his associates don't have the same resources or abilities. He does business with criminals. The trick will be to bring down one of them. Perhaps that person would be willing to tell what he knows about Mr. King if he were facing the wrath of justice himself."

We all sat in silence for a long moment, considering what my father had said. He was dead right. I glanced up and caught Jasper looking at me. There was a silent moment of communication, I understood he wanted to say something but not here. He had an idea, I knew it.

"But how are we going to do it? And who do we go after?" Bella pressed.

"_You_ aren't doing anything," I said quickly. "Remember that promise you made me to stop seeking out danger?"

She scowled and looked at her hands, but I put a finger under her chin and raised her face to look at me. "Bella, remember the alley? These blokes aren't fooling around. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you. Truly."

Her face softened and she gave me a weak little half-smile.

"Let's table this until tomorrow," Emmett interjected suddenly. "I'm sure your father is tired after his trip, Edward. Bella, would you and Alice mind taking my flowers up to Rose? I don't want to intrude on her."

Bella paused like she was going to say something, but then she just shook her head slightly and got to her feet. "Come on, Alice. I do want to check on Rose. She had a hard morning." Alice's face creased with worry and she rose swiftly to her feet to follow Bella back up the stairs.

I half-expected Emmett or Jasper to start talking once the girls were out of earshot, but Emmett immediately started asking my father innocuous questions about his trip to Paris and I understood that whatever he and Jasper wanted to say would be said with just the three of us present.

"Are you tired, Dad? From the trip, I mean?"

He looked surprised at my polite inquiry and it made me wonder exactly how much of an ass I'd been today. "I am, rather. I'm not terribly fond of sea crossings, I'm afraid. And it was rather a long trip on the train from Calais."

Esme stood abruptly, "Please, Edward, let me show you to your room. You should rest before dinner."

My father stood and smiled warmly at Esme. I knew my parents didn't approve of Esme. When Carlisle first told my parents about her right after Liberation Day, my mother had referred to her as "that French woman Carlisle has taken up with", and I know she blamed Esme for keeping him in Paris after the war. My father didn't talk about her, but since he never argued with my mother, I'd always assumed he resented Esme as much as my mother did. But if I was reading him right, he liked her. It wasn't surprising; it was truly impossible to dislike Esme. But there was also an air of familiarity that I didn't understand, since I was fairly sure he'd never let her before today.

Esme started towards the stairs with my father and Carlisle right behind her. I stood up quickly.

"Dad," I said impulsively.

He turned to look back over his shoulder at me.

I choked on the words for a minute, but I made myself say them, imagining Bella holding my hand and making me. "Thanks. For coming. And trying to help."

He cleared his throat and looked down at the ground briefly, discomforted a little. "Of course, Edward. What else would I do?"

We didn't say anything else to each other. That was already more than we'd managed in half a decade. He just left the room behind Esme and Carlisle.

The kitchen fell quiet for a few minutes as Emmett, Jasper and I sank back in our chairs.

"You got an idea there, Jasper?" Emmett finally asked. "Because it looked for all the world like you did."

"I do," he said quietly.

"What?" I asked.

"We need to go after James," he finally said slowly. "We know he's dirty through and through. I know he's a blackmailer. I suspect he does it to order. Probably for Royce King. Royce would need a nice quiet way to get important people to do his bidding and look the other way while he goes about his dirty business."

Emmett nodded slowly. "Makes sense."

"How do we nail James, though?" I asked, more to myself, as I turned it over in my head.

Jasper shrugged. "Your dad's right. He's dirty and he's probably less careful about covering his tracks. If we get him busted, then maybe he rolls over on Royce to save his own skin."

Then it hit me with a cold chill. I knew exactly how to get James.

"The drugs," I finally said. "He deals, and he deals at Le Tabou. We know that for sure. We need to make sure he gets caught doing it."

Emmett exhaled through his teeth. "Are we talking a sting?"

Jasper nodded in understanding and approval. "I think we are."

"This is dangerous as hell," I pointed out.

"We don't have a choice," Emmett sighed. "We have to stop him. He'll just do it to another girl. Hell, he may have more women set up in houses all over Paris as we speak."

Jasper cursed softly under his breath at that part.

"Okay, we'll do this," I said, "But it's just us. The girls stay out of it."

"Absolutely," Jasper snapped quickly. "I don't want Alice anywhere near this shit."

"I'm playing tonight," I said. "I'll put an ear to the ground, see if I can figure out who's playing and when. Hopefully an opportunity will present itself."

Jasper and Emmett nodded solemnly.

"In the meantime, I'll see if I can find out if James has any regular customers that frequent Tabou. That would make it easy," Jasper said.

"Just be careful," I cautioned. "If he finds out you're asking about that…"

Jasper raised a hand, "I can take care of myself. And no one will find out I'm asking."

I sighed and scrubbed my face with my hands. "I'm going to go check on Bella," I said, standing.

"How's Rose?" Emmett asked quickly. He'd really taken an interest in her, even if Rose barely spoke to him or anyone else.

"Bella said she had a hard morning. But she talked some, so that's good. She's just really…"

Emmett nodded his head sadly, "I know."

I turned and headed up the stairs to the second floor where Rose's bedroom was. The door was open and Alice was arranging Emmett's flowers in a vase on the windowsill, talking brightly about nothing while Bella brushed Rose's hair. When she saw me Bella dropped a quick kiss on Rose's cheek and slipped off the bed. As she joined me in the hall she pulled the door closed behind her.

"How is she?"

"A little better, I think."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Edward?" Bella began hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"I'm proud of you," she finally said softly. "For talking to your dad. For listening to him. I really think he's here to help."

I nodded. "I think so, too."

"I know you and he still have a lot of history to work through, but thank you for calling him."

I shrugged. "We needed the help…for Rose."

"Yes, but I know it must have been hard for you to do and I appreciate it."

I smiled and slid an arm around her waist. "I did it for you, Bella. Because I love you."

She smiled back at me and leaned in closer until her cheek was resting on mine and her lips were against my ear. Her arms came up around my neck and her breath blew across my neck, giving me goosebumps.

"And I love you, too," she whispered.

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**A/N: Thank you for all of your reviews! School has been a bit of a nightmare on my end, so I haven't been responding. I'm sorry, but I've read every one and you guys are fantastic. Thank you!**

**Hey, are you reading spanglemaker9's Esme outtake, La Resistance? You should be! Read about Esme's adventures during the German occupation of Paris. She recently posted the second chapter. It won't be a long outtake, she's guessing 8 chapters right now, but it's almost done and it's some of the most beautiful writing I've had the privilege to read in quite some time. Anyway, here's the link: http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5723397/1/La_Resistance**


	23. It Could Happen To You

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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It was odd having Edward's father in the house. I know if it had been my father seeing us descend from the attic apartment every morning—an apartment with one bed and no other place to sleep—Edward would be looking at the business end of a shotgun. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for some sign that he disapproved of me or didn't think I was good enough for his son or his family. It never came.

Mr. Cullen, or Ed, as he insisted I call him, was never impolite or nosy. He was always a little bit stiff, but I attributed that to the fact that I never interacted with him outside of Edward's looming presence. And if Ifelt like every interaction we had was being put under a magnifying glass, I'm sure he did. As a result I hadn't had the chance to really talk to him, and I regretted it. It felt like I was wasting a huge opportunity to learn about where Edward came from and how he became the man he was.

"You're lucky, Bella," Alice said. It was a week after Edward's father arrived, and we were folding laundry in one of Esme's parlors... well, I was folding laundry and Alice was watching. Esme liked to tease me that she had a maid for a reason, but I liked to keep my hands busy. It felt almost shameful to let Tati wash my clothes, but Alice convinced me that she had a better idea on how to handle the different fabrics than I did. It was going to take a lot more sweet-talking to make me give up the one chore I had left that gave me any piece of mind.

"Why am I lucky?" I laughed. "There are a lot of words I'd use to describe myself, but lucky isn't one of them."

She sighed and tossed an embarrassingly lacy pair of underwear at me. "Edward's dad is gorgeous! You have seen the future, and it's still dreamy."

"What?" I choked a little and glanced over at her, but she seemed completely serious.

"Oh, come on. You had to wonder what he'd look like when he's older. Good looking men don't always age well. But Ed, well, he's still got it. Nice jaw, those lips! And that man can wear a suit!"

"Alice!" I hissed. I ran to the door of the parlor and stuck my head out. The hallway was deserted, and I couldn't hear any sounds coming from the front room. I pulled the door shut behind me and glared at her, blushing furiously. "What if someone heard you?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know Esme would think it was funny, Carlisle would probably think pretend he didn't know what we were talking about. And Edward might take it as a compliment!"

A strange sort of gleam reached her eyes and she leaned forward. "Speaking of Edward... how are things going?"

"I don't know how things could be better," I sighed, smiling a little foolishly. "I told him I love him. I still don't know what exactly we're going to do once we sort out this thing with Rose and Royce, but I know that whatever we do, we'll do it together."

She waved her hand impatiently. "That's sweet, but that's not what I meant. How are things... in the bedroom?"

"Alice!" I gasped again.

"Oh, don't be such a prude," she laughed. "I know you're not as innocent as you look. Tell me something juicy. Is he an animal? The quiet ones usually are."

I felt my jaw drop open. I hadn't really had a conversation about sex before. It seemed too private, or like I should be ashamed of what I knew about Edward and the things his body could do to mine. But Alice was far more experienced than I was, at least, I assumed she was, and her face held no judgment. So I gave in, like I usually did when Alice wanted to talk about something.

"He's..." I paused, thinking it over. "He's not an animal. I think he could be, and sometimes it comes out."

I remembered the desperate way he had pushed into me the night after we found Rose, his hands pulling me tight to his body, his breath hot and frantic on my neck. It hadn't felt rough, just urgent and needy. It had been exactly what I needed at the time. My skin tingled a little, and I felt myself start to flush at the memory.

"But the way he makes me feel, Alice, I didn't know I could feel like that." I tripped over my words a bit, still a little uncomfortable with the conversation. I lowered my voice, despite the closed door. "I mean, it's like I'm on fire, like I'm about to explode and collapse all at the same time. It's so intense."

"Every time?" Alice asked, apparently impressed. When I nodded, she whistled. "I know you don't have a lot of basis for comparison, kid, but that's a good record he's got going. So what else have you done?"

My forehead pulled together and I looked at her in confusion. "What else is there?"

"Haven't you put him in your mouth yet?"

My mouth must have flapped open again, because she started giggling even louder. "Oh my God, if you could see your face!"

"Do people... do that?"

She waggled her eyebrows at me suggestively. "_People_ do it all the time. In fact, _people_ really like it. Or so I'm told."

"And he... I mean, men...is that good? For them?"

"Oh, Bella, it's good for everyone. If you're lucky, and I've told you already I think you are, he'll even reciprocate."

My eyes got impossibly wider. "You mean, _his_ mouth on my... on my..."

"Yes," she laughed. "And let me tell you, when a man knows what he's doing, it's nothing short of heavenly."

"I don't think I could do that," I said firmly. "Either thing... I just...his_ mouth_?"

There was so much I didn't know, so much I hadn't seen or even heard of. Suddenly I felt incredibly inexperienced and naïve, despite how far I knew I'd come since I met Edward. I shook my head furiously and picked up the basket full of underthings and freshly pressed shirts.

Alice followed me to the stairs, laughing under her breath the whole time.

"I have to go to the office," she said, squeezing my shoulder and making me turn to face her. "And hey, don't worry about what you don't know, okay? Edward loves you."

"Am I that obvious?"

She shrugged. "Only to me, chérie."

I laughed and gave her a little shove. "You're spending too much time with Esme."

"Impossible," she sang, skipping toward the door. "Say hello to Rosalie for me! Ta!"

I trotted up the stairs, pausing at the landing to listen for sounds from Rosalie's room. I could hear Emmett talking, but not Rose. He'd been spending more and more time with her, and part of me hoped something would happen between them. Then I would think about everything Rose had been through, and how unlikely it was she would even want to try a relationship again anytime soon. Regardless, he seemed to be good for her, and she didn't mind being alone with him.

Setting my hamper on the landing, I crept quietly toward her door. I just wanted to listen a little, to see if she would talk to him. We'd made some progress, but she was still so _quiet_. Rose Hale was not a quiet girl; boisterous, bossy, outgoing, brassy, but never quiet. Until now.

"Do you think you'd like to sit by the window?" Emmett's voice filtered through the slightly ajar door. He was speaking softly, a foreign, tender tone creeping in. "I could wheel you over into the sunlight, there's a nice breeze today."

She made an incomprehensible little noise.

"Okay, so not the window. Are you comfortable? Do you need another pillow for your back?"

Another muttered string of almost-words.

"What about something to drink or eat? I think Carlisle got some fresh croissants this morning."

I strained to hear her answer, but it didn't sound like she said anything this time.

"Are you warm enough? Too cold? I think there are extra blankets in the closet. I'll go get you one, and I'll grab you a cup of coffee as well."

"For God's sake, Emmett, stop fussing over me like a mother hen! If I want something, I'll ask for it. If I'm cold, I'll get my own damn blanket. I can get myself in and out of the wheelchair, and I can push myself to the window. Now why don't you go get yourself a cup of coffee, since you're so hung up on it?"

I slapped a hand over my mouth before I could laugh out loud in delight. That was the Rose I knew. It was such a relief to hear the sharp sting in her voice, the passion that normally infused everything she said, that I almost missed what came next.

"But...but..." Emmett stammered, too surprised to formulate a real answer.

"Go on! I don't want to see you back in this room until you have some coffee. Have a whole pot, if it'll stop your coddling!"

I backed away quickly as I heard him stand and make for the door. Grabbing my basket, I retreated down a few steps to make it look like I was just coming up the stairs. He walked out into the hall in a bit of a daze, meeting my eyes with a dawning look for horror.

"Bella," he whispered. "I think... I'm so sorry, but I think I really upset Rose just now. Maybe you should go check on her."

I raised an eyebrow and tried to keep my face neutral. "What do you mean?"

"She...she yelled at me," he said, big brown eyes wide and sheepish. "Told me to stop coddling her and to leave her alone. I was just trying to make her comfortable, and she told me to leave. She said I couldn't come back until ...well, it's not important."

He glanced nervously over his shoulder.

"Emmett McCarty, you look like you've seen a ghost. Are you afraid of a woman?" I teased.

His neck flushed and he straightened up, a smile pulling at the sides of his lips. "Nah," he said. His mouth relaxed a fraction, though, when he said in a hushed voice, "but I hope I didn't upset her too much."

"Trust me, Emmett, I think you did more good than you could understand right now," I assured him. "It sounds like you got Rose to react like her old self. She's a force to be reckoned with when she's at full strength, and she doesn't like it when people treat her like she's helpless." I poked his bicep and grinned. "Don't let her push you around. For now, you should probably go get that coffee."

His eyes flashed and he stared at me openmouthed. "You..."

"Bye, Emmett," I laughed, pushing past him and into Rose's room.

I didn't look up at her at first, just nudged the door closed with my hip and set down my basket. Fighting down my smile, I glanced over at Rose as I walked around the room, adjusting curtains and straightening odds and ends. Her face was flushed, but it gave her a bit of a healthy glow for once. The pink in her cheeks drew attention away from her sallow skin and yellowing bruises. She was propped up in her bed, but she was glaring at the wheelchair next to her like it had personally offended her.

"Everything all right?" I asked casually, turning to face her fully for the first time.

She exhaled sharply, the air rushing out in a short blast, then rolled her eyes.

"That _man_," she grumbled. "He thinks he's so polite, so sweet."

"Emmett is a wonderful man," I said cautiously, sitting next to her on the edge of the bed. She wrinkled her nose.

"He's a conscientious jailor, I'll give him that," she muttered. I frowned, and her expression softened. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "It's just that he's always here being so... so..."

"Nice? Helpful? Kind?"

"Annoying!" she sputtered. "Something about him just gets under my skin."

She looked uncomfortable, and I thought it was probably a little more than that, but I let it go.

"Well, all the same, it's nice to see you acting a little bit like your old self. I've missed you." I spoke softly, but I knew she heard me when she sighed again. The flush in her cheeks was starting to recede, but her outburst seemed to have done her some good. She sat straighter, and there was life in her eyes where before there had only been blank, expressionless blue.

"I missed you too," she said, smiling at me. "When I was still with Royce, it used killed me to know exactly where you were but that I couldn't call you or see you. I kept imagining you sitting all alone in Alice's apartment, waiting for me to call. Of course, you weren't exactly all alone, were you?"

The tense edge in her voice wasn't hard to recognize. She and Esme had been spending more time together, and she even seemed to be comfortable with Carlisle when he came to check on her recovery. But despite everything, she still didn't care for Edward. I was sick of dancing around it and justifying myself at every turn. Maybe now that she was acting a little bit more like her old self we could have a rational discussion about him.

"What are you getting at, Rose? Just say it." I spoke calmly and quietly, not wanting to antagonize her but needing to hear what was really bothering her.

"You know what I'm getting at. This romantic fairy tale you think your living...where is it going? What happens when you go home to Forks, have you talked about it at all? And what about Jake? And your parents? I don't want to see you throw everything away for a handsome man who seems like he's too good to be true. I did, and look where it got us."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"That's what it looks like to me. Sleeping with a man you've barely known for a few months? Working in some corner café and giving up on school? What about college, Bella? You have a life at home. Edward isn't a part of it."

Her words tore at me, mostly because she was saying everything that I had been thinking for weeks. The difference was that where she saw destruction and waste, I saw hope for a future I didn't even think was possible. And maybe it was time to start believing in that future.

"I think you need to understand something," I said, soft but firm. "Edward and I love each other, and maybe it happened fast, but I trust him to take care of me, and he trusts me. "

I paused, choosing my words carefully. "This life that I have here... it's more than just something I'm doing to pass the time. I'm...I'm _happy_ here. I'm happier here with Edward and my silly waitressing job than I was in Forks, or even Seattle. And what about Jake? You didn't even like him that much and he didn't treat me with a fraction of the love and respect that Edward gives me. I've already told him it's over."

Her jaw dropped a little and she interrupted me. "You and Jake have been together for years!"

"We _were_ together, but we're not anymore," I said, raising my voice a little. "I know you're probably worried that I'm going to get in trouble or get hurt, but Rose, you don't have to be."

I reached out for her hand, but she pulled away and crossed her arms, pursing her lips and giving me a stern look.

"I love you, and I'm here for you, but I have to do what's right for me. Edward is right for me."

"What are you saying?" she asked. Her voice was starting to rasp a little, probably because she rarely talked this much anymore.

"I'm saying that when you're well enough...when you go home... I don't think I'm coming with you. Before you say anything," I raised a hand to stop her sputtering, "I've been thinking about this for a while now. Edward offered to come back to Forks with me, but can you see him trying to be a painter in Forks? Even if we moved to Seattle he'd be miserable. And I'd be miserable too.

"I need your support, Rosie, because I know my parents won't be happy with me. I need you to tell me it's okay."

We stared at each other for a long moment, neither of us speaking. Even though I probably wouldn't change my mind, I felt like I needed her to give me some sort of sign that she thought I was making the right decision. Alice and Esme would be ecstatic that I wanted to stay, and Edward would be relieved, but they weren't family. Rose was. She always had been.

Her mouth relaxed, just a little, and her eyes softened. She sighed and leaned back into her pillows.

"I can't do that, Bella," she finally said.

I sighed and turned away. "Oh."

"At least not until I get some details."

I looked back at her quickly, certain I had misunderstood. Her face was still serious, but there was a hint of a smile in her eyes.

"What kind of details?" I asked quietly. "I told you all about him after we brought you home."

"I wasn't really paying attention," she admitted a little sheepishly. "I was a little... out of it."

"Oh," I said again. It made sense. She was practically catatonic for days. Of course she wasn't listening. "Well, where would you like me to start?"

"Tell me how you met."

I smiled at the memory of Edward towering over me, a look of disapproval on his face. "He told me he didn't like my hair."

"What?" she gasped, but I just laughed a little louder and started from the beginning. I told her about how he saw me in the park the night I came to Paris, leaving out the bit about how I had been crying. She interrupted me when I told her about knocking out the red headed man in the bar.

"You attacked a total stranger?"

"Well, I didn't attack him so much as he surprised me. You know how Dad is, always going on about how a woman has to protect her virtue. I was so nervous," I laughed. "I was all wound up, and then the man came out of nowhere and grabbed at me. It was reflex."

She shook her head, but a small smile was starting to bloom. "At least the Chief's lessons helped one of us out."

Her words were light, but an undercurrent of pain ran through them.

I was trying to find the right thing to say when a light knock on her door interrupted us. The door creaked open, and I looked up to see Edward standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Sorry to intrude," he said softly, smiling us, "but Bella, it's time to go to work. I promised I'd walk you, remember?"

"I'm sorry," I said immediately, glancing up at the clock on the wall. "I said I'd be downstairs five minutes ago! Just let me run my laundry up to the garret and I'll be ready to go."

"I can get it," he said easily. "Don't worry about it."

I crossed the room and kissed his cheek. He smiled at me and then looked over my shoulder. "Hello, Rose."

He turned away, expecting her to ignore him like she had every time he had tried to talk to her so far.

"Hello, Edward," she murmured. He whipped his head back around and looked at her incredulously, but she just smiled an odd sort of half smile and then closed her eyes.

"Come on," I said, tugging on his arm. "I don't want to be late."

He didn't bring it up until we were almost halfway to the café. We walked quietly, our hands swinging between us, his thumb resting firmly on my knuckles. Finally, he cleared his throat and look down at me. "So," he said, staring down at me with raised eyebrows, "that was different."

"What was?" I asked innocently, keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead.

He nudged me with his elbow. "You know. Rose."

"Well, we had a nice talk," I said. "I told her that you're really important, and since she's family, it's important to me that you get along."

"Really important?" he said, his tone casual.

"I told her I love you, and that we're together now, no matter what."

I squeezed his hand and watched him, soaking up the happiness that lit up his face at my words. I didn't want to tell him about staying Paris yet, mostly because it seemed like a conversation that shouldn't take place in the middle of the street on my way to work. I was pretty sure he'd be happy about my decision, but there was a chance that he would argue with me about it. I wanted to have the chance to talk about it...and maybe even do some celebrating. My mind flashed back to my earlier conversation with Alice and I fought the urge to giggle. I started talking again before I could embarrass myself.

"She started to ask questions about you and, I don't know, I think she's going to try to make an effort."

We came to a stop in front of the café and he pulled me into his arms. I sighed happily as he kissed me, forgetting that we were in full view of the customers who sat at scattered tables in front of the café. It was only when the people behind us started clearing their throats that I pulled away.

"I have to go. See you at home?" I started to walk backwards, wanting to watch his smile for as long as I could.

He nodded and smiled even wider. "See you at home."

I watched him walk away before hurrying into the kitchen and grabbing my apron off the hook. Angelique was talking to Benjamin, the cook. I couldn't tell for sure, but I thought maybe there was something going on between them. She smiled broadly at me.

"Hello! You are almost late, you are okay?"

Her English had improved almost as much as my French had. We joked that we had started a little language school in Pierre's café, with the two of us exchanging phrases and teaching grammar points.

"C'est une belle journée et je suis amoureux! Que demander de plus?"

She laughed and pointed to the front of the café. "I am glad to hear it, but your boys have been asking about you. You should go to them."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my pad of paper, hurrying back outside to the sidewalk café. There were "my boys," looking just as shaggy and disreputable as they always did. They let up a cheer when I got close, earning a glare from the customers at a nearby table.

"Will you keep it down?" I sighed, leaning against Eric's chair. "You should have a little more respect for the other diners."

Tyler laughed loudly and shook his head. "One day, this café is going to be famous because we spent our days here. They'll talk about it as the place where the decade's greatest philosophy was born!"

Michael grinned at me. "If you're lucky, ma petite, we'll mention you in our memoirs."

"Please do," I shot back, "I can see it now: Bella Swan poured the best cup of coffee in Paris."

"Ditch the British chap and you can have a starring role," Michael answered, leering at me.

I laughed and pushed his shoulder, straightening up and giving them a more businesslike stare. "Enough. Stop picking on Edward and tell me what I can get for you."

About an hour later I was leaning against the side of the building, sunning myself and thinking about the story I had just started writing. It was about me, a little, but mostly it was about the transition from childhood to adulthood, and all the longings, confusion and clarity that come with it. The idea had nagged at me late one night as I was lying in Edward's arms, reveling in the way his fingers traced over the bare skin on my shoulder blades. The moment was so perfect: the two of us were tangled together under his thin cotton sheets, and it was impossible to tell where one of us stopped and the other began. If someone had told me that this scene, this snapshot of bliss and sexual energy and tender touches, was in my future six months ago, I wouldn't have believed it. It got me thinking, and by the next day I had written ten pages of observations and musings.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle," a rough, gravelly voice barked from my right. I opened my eyes and turned toward the sound. The voice came from the same table that had been directing glares and disapproving coughs at Eric, Tyler and Michael all morning. For the first time, I looked at the three people seated there, taking in the oddest grouping of characters I had seen outside of one of Esme's salons.

The two men couldn't have been more different; one was incredibly thin and gangly, with a fuzzy layer of strawberry blond hair dusting his balding head and large, watery blue eyes, and the other was round and beefy, with a strong chin and a square face, his thick, slightly curly steel grey hair covered up by a felt cap. The woman who sat with them, I realized with a start, was the one who had spoken to me. She had heavy eyebrows and mousy brown hair that curled in a sort of haphazard way down around her shoulders. A bright scarf covered most of her head, and a long string of pearls was draped around her neck.

"Allô?" she said again, waving a hand that was covered in rings and dripping with bracelets. "Mademoiselle? Some service, s'il vous plaît?"

I started, and walked toward them slowly. "Yes? What do you need?"

She gave me a piercing stare and didn't say anything. I waited for a moment, shifting uncomfortably, before the stout man in the felt cap started laughing. I liked the sound of it; it was rumbling and jovial. It made me smile.

"Marguerite, stop scaring the poor girl," he said, looking up at me with twinkling brown eyes. His voice had an unidentifiable cadence to it. He wasn't French, but neither was he English or German. Russian, maybe? "Your dinner menu, ma belle?"

"Oh," I said, for some reason still thrown by the group of them. "Of course."

When I brought the menus back, the three of them were deep in conversation.

"Your menus," I said softly, placing them face down on the table. "Is there anything else?"

"As a matter of fact," the thin man said, his eyes darting nervously around the outdoor seating area before coming back to my face. "There is something else."

"Alistair," the woman, Marguerite, moaned. "Just leave it be."

"Mademoiselle," Alistair continued, lowering his voice and leaning forward, "are you aware that you are being watched?"

My eyebrows shot up and I glanced from side to side. The only people who were paying any attention to me at all were Michael and Tyler, taking lazy glances at my backside.

"Those boys?" I said with a breezy laugh. "Would-be philosophers with a taste for espresso. They may not tip very well, but they're harmless."

"I am not speaking of those schoolboys," he hissed, his voice getting softer as he leaned further forward.

"Alistair," the round man said, his tone holding more than a little warning, "don't frighten the poor girl."

"Don't tell me you think I'm imagining things again, Demetri," Alistair said. "You've seen them too."

Demetri sighed but didn't say anything.

I looked back and forth between the two of them, completely confused. "I'm sorry, seen who?"

"_Them_," Alistair hissed, extending a shaking finger toward the corner of the sidewalk café. I started to turn my head, but he made another little hissing sound. "Don't look!"

"Okay," I said slowly. "I'm not sure I understand."

Marguerite huffed loudly and looked up at me. "You'll have to excuse Alistair. He's a bit of a conspiracy theorist I'm afraid. Another round of coffee if you please."

I paused for a second before sweeping back inside for their coffee. Alistair had put me on edge, and as I made my way outside again I scanned the tables. Nothing seemed out of place. There were the American boys, a few scattered tables of lovers out in the bright sunshine. And then, in the far corner that Alistair had pointed to, two men sat in dark suits and hats tipped low over their faces. One of them met my eyes for a split second before turning away. It made me feel uneasy, but I shrugged it off and walked back to the table I had just left. I could hear Marguerite talking in a raised voice.

"Why would a little ex-pat waitress be the target of drug dealers?" she was saying. "She's a mousy little thing, unremarkable."

I cleared my throat as I got closer, and she looked up. She pushed her empty cup out toward me and turned back to Demetri and lowered her voice. "And at any rate, you don't even know for sure who they are. You're a writer, for Christ's sake, not a detective."

"A writer?" I asked, the question coming unbidden to my lips. I blushed as all three of them looked up at me in surprise.

Demetri smiled. "Oui, ma belle. We are all writers, Marguerite, Alistair and I."

"Have you written anything I've heard of?" I asked, setting their cups down carefully, taking my time. I'd spoken to writers at Esme's parties, of course, but for some reason I had never wanted to ask questions before now.

"A little of this, a little of that," Marguerite said with another wave of her hand. "It's not about popularity, child, it's about expression in its purest form. I don't suppose you know what I mean by that."

"I think so," I said cautiously. "When I write, it's more about being able to say what I need to say, of getting the words out of my head and on paper. Nobody's ever read my writing, but I still love to do it."

"Ah, a novice!" Demetri exclaimed. "And what is it you write about?"

"Romance?" Marguerite said, raising a thick eyebrow.

"Or maybe you write mystery novels," Alistair piped up, giving a nervous glance to the back corner where I knew the men in dark suits sat. "Do you do your research in dark corners, meeting with dangerous men?"

I laughed. "I don't know what I write," I said. I set my tray down and wiped my hands on my apron. "To be honest, I've only just started writing again. I'm still kind of figuring it out."

"Well, Paris is a city to find your muse," Demetri laughed. "And this seems a perfect spot to sit and think."

"As long as you aren't being followed by dark men," Alistair muttered.

I shifted uneasily and smiled at Demetri. "Yes," I said. "As cafes go, I think this is a nice one. I'll... leave you to your writing."

I started to go and then stopped and turned back. "This may be a silly question, but... do you happen to know Esme Benoit?"

Marguerite's face brightened immediately. "Now there's a name I haven't heard in years. I knew Esme before the war. How do you know her?"

"I'm actually staying with her right now. It's a long story."

"Does she still throw those fabulous parties?" Marguerite sounded almost wistful. "Everyone used to go to those parties...I can still remember the lights and the music. I stopped going after the occupation started," she sighed. "Most of us did. It wasn't the same."

"Yes, she still has the parties," I laughed. "You should come, I know she always loves to see old friends. She has at least one a week."

Marguerite smiled then, and it made her look younger. For a second, I could see the woman who attended all of Esme's gatherings before the Germans came and the city was destroyed. "I think that's a fantastic idea. Tell her Marguerite Badeau is very much looking forward to seeing her again."

"I'll do that," I said, and started to walk away again. She reached out for my wrist and stopped me.

"Mademoiselle," she murmured, so quietly I had to lean in to hear her. "Alistair has a habit of making something out of nothing, but it's better safe than sorry, non? Don't walk home alone tonight."

I nodded and backed away, going to check on my boys and then checking back in at the kitchen with Angelique. The eyes of the men in the corner seemed to follow me as I moved, but every time I turned to look at them they were carefully looking in the other direction. They were sitting at one of Angelique's tables, but they never asked for more than a single cup of coffee, and she said they barely spoke to each other.

Edward was playing at Le Tabou, and I had planned to walk home by myself. It wasn't a long walk to Esme's house, but the men and Marguerite's warning had me on edge. I asked Pierre to use his phone, and though he grumbled a little bit, he pulled it out from behind his counter and let me call Esme's house. Carlisle answered after two rings.

"Allô?"

"Carlisle? It's Bella."

"Bella? Is anything wrong, dear? I thought you were at the café?"

"I am, I'm about to walk home actually. But Edward keeps telling me I have to be careful, and there are some men here... I'm probably being silly, never mind."

"Men? What kind of men?"

"Two men, sitting in the corner of the café all day. I think they've been watching me, but I'm not sure."

"Emmett and Jasper will be around in a few minutes to walk you home."

"Carlisle, it's fine, I'm just on edge. This whole thing with Royce just has me a little bit spooked."

"It's _not_ fine," he said firmly. "Edward would never forgive me if I let you walk home alone, and I don't have the stomach for another few days in the hospital or worse. Now stay there and the boys will come for you soon. Do you hear me?"

A little taken aback by his tone, I stuttered a quick "okay" and hung up the phone.

True to Carlisle's word, Emmett and Jasper arrived about 15 minutes later. The men out front watched us as we passed, but they didn't make a move to follow us.

"Never a full day until some dangerous looking man tries to stalk you, is it Bella?" Emmett laughed darkly, tousling my hair a little as we walked down the street.

Jasper glanced over his shoulder and scowled. "This isn't a joke, Emmett. Now they're coming to where she works? What about Alice? Those offices aren't exactly on a main thoroughfare."

"Alice can take care of herself," I said quickly. "She would never let herself get caught up in anything dangerous."

Jasper smirked and shook his head. "She's still with me, isn't she?"

"Yeah, and you're such a bad egg," Emmett laughed. "Bella's right, Jasper. Stop worrying and let's get back to Esme's. Alice is visiting Rose right now, she and Bella can spend the night in, nice and safe."

"Sure, safe," I grumbled. "And what will you boys be doing while you leave us languishing at home?"

I was mostly kidding, but the sudden silence that fell over us was more than a little suspicious.

"Emmett," I said sweetly, sure that if one of them was going to slip up and tell me something, it would be him. "Where exactly are you boys going tonight?"

"Out," he said evasively.

"Out, huh? Out where?"

"We hadn't really planned it out," he mumbled, giving Jasper a shifty look. Then he sighed and looked back at me. "But we might head over to Le Tabou and catch Edward at the end of his set."

"That sounds like fun," I said with a wide smile. "Give me a couple of minutes to freshen up and grab Alice and I'm sure she'll want to come along."

Silence. Then Jasper started talking, pulling out a reassuring smile and leading me gently through the front door.

"The thing is Bella, we're really only going to be at the club for an hour or so. It's not worth getting all dolled up to go out just to turn around and come home. You can see Edward when we get back, he's got the early set tonight."

It might have worked, except for Jasper didn't see Alice standing in the doorway to the kitchen as we walked in. He was doomed the second he mentioned getting dolled up. And Alice wouldn't take no for an answer.

A quick change and a fresh layer of makeup later, Alice and I were walking out the door with the boys. We made small talk on the walk to the club, but everything seemed... off somehow. The uneasy glances that Jasper and Emmett were giving each other didn't escape my notice, and from the looks Alice was giving me, she knew something was up too.

I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

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**Translation**

C'est une belle journée et je suis amoureux! Que demander de plus? _It's a beautiful day and I'm in love! What could be better?"_

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Some of you may know that we've got a couple of outtakes planned for this story. Well, if you're enjoying French Esme in this story, spanglemaker9 started posting a little side-shot story about Esme's experiences in World War 2 called La Résistance. Give it a read!**

**http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5723397/1/La_Resistance**

**Or you can find it on spanglemaker9's profile.**

The livejournal page has been updated! Come see: http://spanglemaker9(dot)livejournal(dot)com/


	24. Good Bait

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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"Quelle heure est-il?" I asked Laurent anxiously.

"Huit," Laurent said absently, adjusting the screw on the cymbal of his drum kit.

I raked my hands through my hair and looked towards the door again, hoping in vain for a glimpse of Jasper and Emmett.

The whole thing was set. The chain of events, hopefully, had begun already. Technically, they didn't need to be here. But I would still feel better if they were.

They were late. I couldn't imagine what could have held them up. They were staying at Esme's for the afternoon as per the plan, and they were supposed to arrive at Le Tabou at 7:45. But it was eight and there was no sign of them.

I pivoted on my piano stool to face the keys again and flexed my fingers. We were supposed to be playing by now, but Felix had a fit about the mouthpiece on his trumpet and took off backstage for a different one, buying me a little more time.

Trying to look casual, I let my eyes flit around the room. The key players were in place. James was leaning against the bar with an air of studied nonchalance. He sipped his drink absently, but his small, squinty eyes darted around the room non-stop. He was looking for the other main player in tonight's drama, Randall Taylor, the American trombonist who was playing with the featured performer at Tabou tonight, scheduled to go on after us.

Randall was across the room, ostensibly talking to Phillipe, Tabou's manager, but his eyes kept scanning the room anxiously and his fists kept clenching. He was full of nervous energy, anxiety rolling off of him. He ran a hand over his tousled black hair, his dark eyes contrasting sharply with his pale, sallow skin. I'd met him once before, a year ago when he was on tour with Sidney Bechet. I knew back then that he did heroin, but seeing what it had done to him in the space of a year made me feel sick. He had deep rings of purple under his eyes, and his skin was ghostly and clammy. He looked nervous and slightly panicky, completely distracted from his conversation with Phillipe. He was sweating and his fingers never stopped twitching. None of it boded well for his playing, assuming he ever made it on stage.

Randall's deteriorated state made me feel slightly less bad about what was about to happen. The minute I saw him on the roster at Tabou, I knew our opportunity had presented itself. Then yesterday afternoon I'd made sure I was at Tabou for his rehearsal, even though I had no good reason to be hanging around then. I acted like I forgot some sheet music there that I needed and spent an hour pretending to dig through the boxes stacked in the corner of the green room that the musicians used.

I was there when Randall started up a conversation with Laurent about how much he liked Paris. I listened with my heart in my throat as Randall talked about the great parties he'd been to in Paris last year, about how much fun he'd had. Laurent laughed along, offering to drag Randall with him wherever he was headed that night. Then Randall, his fists stuffed into his pocket, had asked Laurent with a studied casual air if he knew where he could get something to help the party along. Laurent started to bluster and stall a little. I knew he knew people, but he was cautious about sharing names with a stranger. Besides, the guys Laurent knew were just users, not dealers.

I sensed my moment and took a deep breath.

"There's a guy that hangs out here sometimes. James LaFave. He could hook you up. You know him, Laurent?"

Laurent had swiveled to me and nodded, mystified. I had always stayed completely clear of these conversations and this scene. Laurent knew that. But he said nothing, he just turned back to Randall and said he'd pass the word along to James for him.

Apparently he had, because James was here with another thick-necked thug standing stupidly at his side. But this guy wasn't Santine or Saroute, the guys I tangled with in the alley. Those two still hadn't re-surfaced and I didn't know how to feel about that. When I came out on stage and got settled at the piano, James' eyes had flickered to me briefly, his expression stony, before looking away. He hadn't paid me any further notice, which was just fine with me.

The players in the next part of the plan had yet to materialize, but it was early yet. When I'd met up with Jasper and Emmett yesterday to tell them about Randall and James, my father had strolled into the kitchen just as we were discussing exactly how to ensure that the gendarmes would be there to see the whole thing happen. My father had asked what we were up to and Emmett cheerfully told him the whole thing.

I expected him to get angry, to rail at me for my foolishness, for my reckless plan, but surprisingly, he did none of that. He just asked what we planned to do next. Jasper told him he was going to speak to the few contacts he had in the ranks of the gendarmes and hope that it was enough to convince them to send some officers to Tabou at the appointed time.

Then my father shocked me even further.

"I have a friend in the Gendarmerie. A contact from the war. Carlisle knows him in passing. This would actually fall under the jurisdiction of the National Police, but I can speak to my friend, Garrett, if you like. He's got contacts there, surely. I suspect he'd have better luck securing their cooperation."

I just blinked at him, unable to respond. Emmett was the one to thank him vociferously for his help. I was too stunned to say anything.

So my dad spoke to this mysterious contact he had from the war and supposedly the presence of the Police Nationale was guaranteed tonight. I had no idea my father had anything to do during the war. He was too old for combat. I though he'd just stayed in England, kept his head down, and fretted about the Blitz. But now there were all these intriguing hints. This man, Garrett, a Scotsman, was some sort of contact from the war. Why did my father have contacts from the war? And one that Carlisle knew? I knew Carlisle and Esme had both been involved in the Resistance. Was my own father mixed up in it in some way I'd never guessed at? The whole thing left me baffled and curious, but I was unable to do a thing about it tonight. The first priority was James.

Garrett worked with the Gendarmerie and was able to tell us that the Police Nationale had been hoping to catch James red-handed for some time. So when I offered up an opportunity and all they had to do was to show up and make the arrest, they were more than happy to oblige.

It all seemed straightforward enough, so why was I so anxious?

Then I heard a high-pitched laugh that cut through the low-grade chatter of Tabou like an arrow. Alice.

I spun to the door and sure enough, there were Emmett and Jasper. And there also were Alice and Bella. Bloody hell.

Bella turned to the stage, her eyes seeking me out at the piano instinctively. She'd been here countless nights to watch me play, it was no wonder. My panic at her unexpected arrival ebbed just a little as her face lit up with a smile when she saw me. I couldn't help but return it.

I looked back at Laurent, still sitting behind his drum kit waiting for Felix to reappear.

"I'll be right back," I said, sliding off the piano bench. Laurent threw his hands up in disgust and muttered a curse in French, having now lost two of the three musicians in the trio.

I wound in between the crowded little tables, trying to make my way over to them. Bella kept her eyes fixed on me through the haze of cigarette smoke. Alice was standing on tiptoe, chattering happily at Emmett, who looked a little nauseous. Jasper looked furious, but then, he usually did.

"Well, this is a surprise," I said as I finally got close to them.

Bella stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my neck, "Not an unpleasant one, I hope?"

"Never," I said, leaning down to kiss her cheek, but I was afraid my smile didn't reach my eyes, and from the suspicious look that crept across Bella's face, I was sure I was right. "Let's find you a table."

I released her and ushered her ahead of me silently and stood back to let Alice fall in behind her. As soon as I got close enough to Emmett and Jasper I hissed, "What the bloody hell are they doing here?"

"Your girl invited herself along!" Emmett hissed back.

"And you couldn't ditch them?"

"You do _know_ Alice, don't you?" Jasper growled. "Once she smelled a night out in the works, there was no stopping her."

"What the hell are we supposed to do with them?"

"Look, we'll just park ourselves at a table and keep them close. Once this thing goes down, it's not like you'll need us," Jasper whispered as Alice debated between two different tables.

"That one is better," I said to her, pointing to the one farthest in the corner. "This one is too close to the restroom." Alice cast a beaming smile over her shoulder at me and skipped ahead to the table in the corner, the one farthest away from everything. Bella looked back at me with a small, false smile. Her eyes were hard. She was onto us, no doubt about it. Maybe she hadn't guessed at the details, but she knew we were hiding something.

I got the girls settled into their seats and when Alice started moaning about needing a drink, I seized the opportunity to go and get them a bottle of wine. I wound my way back through the tables until I reached the bar, about six feet down from where James was….or where he had been, because he was gone.

I spun around and scanned the room furiously and finally spotted the dirty blond of James' hair across the room. He was talking with a bass player I knew. They were smiling but their heads were close together and their expressions rather serious. Then I saw the bass player tip his head ever so slightly in the direction of Randall and James' eyes followed quickly. Bingo.

Andre, the bartender, snapped me back to attention, asking me what I wanted. I got the wine and was just starting to figure out how I'd get all the glasses back to the table when a flurry of activity and raised voices by the door drew my attention there for the second time that night.

_No._

My dad.

Edward Anthony Cullen, Sr., Esquire was standing stiffly just inside the front door of Le Tabou, his charcoal wool suit impeccably pressed, his hair, only a little darker than mine, neatly combed. He had his hands clasped lightly in front of him and he was smiling, his face as relaxed as it ever really got, which was not very relaxed. He was talking to someone…no, someone was talking at him. My father was just smiling and nodding as the tall, ruddy-faced man with light brown hair on his left laughed and talked without stopping. While my father wasn't saying anything, it was clear he knew the man and it dawned on me that this must be his friend, Garrett, the mysterious war contact. But what the bloody hell were they doing here?

I snatched up the bottle of wine and balanced the glasses as carefully as I could with my other arm and stormed over to them.

"Dad!" I hissed. He pivoted to see me and his face lit up with happy surprise.

"Eddie! There you are!"

"Dad, what are you doing here?"

"Why, Garrett here wanted to come along and make sure that everything was handled properly. That the…erm..._sting_…how did you say it, Garrett? Went off without a hitch? Yes, right."

Now Dad's friend, Garrett piped up, his lips curled in a wide smile underneath a bristly full moustache. "Right, right. Can't be too careful with these things, eh?" he said, his loud booming voice thick with his Scottish brogue. "Ach, so your Edward's boy, are ye, then?"

I nodded and gave him a tight smile that I didn't mean.

"Well, well, you've got yourself mixed up with a right nasty lot of blokes, there, eh?" he laughed, clapping me on the shoulder hard and causing me to almost drop the armload of glasses. My father jumped forward and pulled several of them out of my hands.

"I'm not _mixed up_ with them," I snapped. "I'm trying to help a friend. Do you think being here is wise? What if James spots you?"

"Eh, the bugger doesn't know who I am, but the local Police Nationale blokes do. I thought it might be helpful to have a contact on hand, should the need arise."

"But—" I started, before Garrett's large, heavy hand came down on my shoulder again, silencing me.

"It's all set up, my boy, never fear! Nothing to do now but stay out of the way and enjoy the show!"

I nearly growled in irritation at him. How could he be so light-hearted and unconcerned about a drug bust that was about to go down just meters away from us? While Bella was in the room? I was about to issue a sarcastic retort, but my father stopped me.

"Eddie," my father murmured, "That gentleman on stage seems to be trying to get your attention."

I turned my head to see Laurent giving me the evil eye and pointing fiercely to the piano. Damn. I had to go play in the middle of all this.

"I need to get up there. The girls are sitting in the corner with Jasper and Emmett. Why don't you sit back there with them?"

"Jasper and Emmett are here?" My father sounded absolutely delighted and I had an irrational flash of jealousy that he was becoming friends with my friends, which I knew was completely ridiculous.

I shrugged off my anxiety and anger and nodded them towards the table in the corner. Bella's face lit up when she saw my father and she half-stood to shake the hand of Garret when he was introduced.

Garrett immediately fell into a chair between Emmett and Bella, helping himself to a generous glass of wine even though I got the distinct feeling while talking to him that he'd already been indulging plenty tonight. My father settled in next to Bella on the other side and began making polite inquiries about her day. The two of them quickly fell into an easy conversation. Emmett and Jasper, as soon as they understood that Garrett was my father's friend from the Gendarmerie, were full of questions and interest. Garrett, expansive and jovial, was clearly basking in it. He leaned back in his chair and slung an arm across the back of Bella's chair companionably. I wanted to snap at him to back off, even though he was my father's age. He was wearing a rumpled tan suit that hung haphazardly off his large frame, his tie hung loose around his neck and his shirt was partly unbuttoned. His cheeks were ruddy from his earlier drinking, and although he didn't seem necessarily impaired by alcohol, on the whole he didn't inspire a lot of confidence. I hoped my father knew what he was doing asking him for help.

"I've got to go play, so I'll see you all in a bit?"

Bella looked up and smiled. "We'll be here!"

I was about to leave when Garrett looked up and stopped me. His eyes were suddenly razor sharp and he sounded stone-cold sober. "Excuse me, my boy, but would you point out the WC?"

I pointed off to the right, towards the corner where the restrooms were. Garrett looked and smiled his thanks, but made no move to go, he just turned back to Emmett and continued his conversation.

I cast one more scowling look at the happy, oblivious table and stalked back to the stage. Felix and Laurent were grouchy about starting the set so late, but I ignored them, trying to focus on the keys while keeping one eye on Bella's table.

We started easy, with _Autumn Leaves_, and I played along absently, hardly my best performance, casting quick glances around the room. I had lost track of both James and Randall when my father and Garrett came in, and now as I squinted through the haze of smoke in the bar I realized that I still couldn't spot them. Had they left? Had James gotten wind of what was about to go down and fled? I must have missed a million notes, because even Laurent was starting to shoot me dirty looks, when once again, a flurry of activity at the front door drew my attention back. Three uniformed Police Nationale officers were standing just inside the door. One of them was talking urgently to Phillipe, who was looking horrified and mildly panicked at the appearance of uniformed officers of the law in his club. All sorts of less-than-legal activities went on at Le Tabou on a regular basis. I knew Phillipe must be sweating bullets and I felt bad for bringing this kind of scrutiny down on the club, but it couldn't be helped.

What happened next seemed to take place almost in slow motion. When I though back on it later, it was amazing to me that I stayed onstage and that I kept playing through the whole thing. I couldn't hear anything over the din of our own song, so I watched the scene play out in silence. Phillipe protested mightily to the Police Nationale, and whatever he said seemed to confuse them for a moment, as if they weren't sure what to do next. One officer, the oldest of the three, scanned the room while the two younger ones argued with Phillipe. Then the older officer froze when his eyes fell on our table, specifically Garrett. Garrett stared back, every inch of his earlier jovial bluster vanished, replaced with a look of steely determination.

When Garrett went still, so did Jasper and my father. Emmett, Bella and Alice kept chatting, oblivious for the moment. Garrett gave one tiny, nearly imperceptible nod of his head to the officer and his head tipped ever so slightly in the direction of the rest rooms. The older officer's head dipped a fraction in acknowledgement. With a few words to the other two, they took off, leaving Phillipe stunned and flustered by the front door as they pushed their way between the tightly packed tables.

In the end, it happened out of sight, back in the men's room. The three officers burst into the restroom and found James and Randall in a stall. Randall had already made his purchase and James was helpfully assisting him in shooting into his arm. Maybe he thought that if he quickly got that hit into him, he could get another sale out of him before the night was over. But that was it. With the syringes, needles and vials, plus the additional heroin James had in his pockets, there wasn't much uncertainty about what had been going on.

I found out all of that later from a guy who'd been sitting near the restroom. At the time, as I clumsily slammed through a solo in _Autumn Leaves_, all I saw were three officers disappear into the restroom and reappear five minutes later, shoving a dazed Randall and a furious James ahead of them. James made eye-contact with me briefly and I forced myself to stare back. His face was murderous, but with him helplessly handcuffed, I felt bold enough to smirk at him. He could only turn his thunderous gaze back to the front as the officer behin him gave him another shove.

As soon as the officers re-appeared with two men in handcuffs, the place went crazy. People at tables along the path to the door scampered out of the way. Chairs scraped back, glasses clinked and voices raised in a buzz of curious chatter. Within a minute, playing became pointless and I stopped along with Felix and Laurent, who were just now figuring out that something big was going down.

Philippe looked to the stage, his face a mask of panic and pointed at his watch. He was signaling us to take a break. I cleared the stage in one bound, down into the chaotic fray on the floor, shoving through the press of bodies to reach our table in the far back corner. When I got there, Garrett was hunched over, his face close to Bella's and Alice's, speaking quickly. Bella's eyes were darting from Garrett to the crowd and back again. When she spotted me she straightened immediately and pushed forward to reach me. My hands closed around her upper arms and I nearly sighed in relief and smiled.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

Her angry words wiped the relaxed smile right off my face.

"Pardon?"

"Of all the crazy, stupid, _dangerous_ things to do…"

"Love—"

"Don't you 'love' me! You could have been killed! Do you have any idea how dangerous that man is?"

"And now he's been stopped, hasn't he?"

"And you planned all this without telling me? _Either _of us?" Bella gestured back at Alice. She had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face uncharacteristically stony. Jasper was bent down over her, talking rapidly in her ear. I glanced over to Emmett and he shrugged apologetically. We were in trouble.

Garrett and my father had slipped away to talk with the arresting officers, so I was on my own to deal with Bella's wrath. I took a deep breath, still uncertain as to how I would diffuse this situation.

"Bella, we had to do something. Now they have James and we might have some leverage against Royce."

"What exactly did you do to make this happen, Edward?"

I rubbed the back of my neck and looked back at our table. Alice was yelling at Jasper now and Emmett was keeping his eyes firmly fastened on his drink. No help there.

"Randall was looking to buy. I pointed him in the right direction. Garrett spoke to the Police Nationale for us, to make sure they'd be here to see it. That's all."

"Garrett? So your father was in on this, too?"

"Well, it was our idea, but once he knew about it, he offered to help."

Bella closed her eyes and shook her head in disgust.

"Bella?"

"Guuuuhhhh!" she let out a loud, frustrated huff and turned on her heel, pushing through the crowd towards the door.

I looked to the table. "Jasper?"

He shot me a frazzled, exasperated glare. "I have some stuff to sort out here, Edward."

"You bet we do!" Alice snapped.

"I'll talk to you later," Jasper said.

"Em?"

Emmett held up both hands in front of him defensively. "I'm going to stay a little while here and walk your dad back to Esme's later. You'd better go catch Bella."

I shot him a dirty look and did just that. I was afraid she'd left the club without me, but she hadn't. She was leaning on the door frame, just inside, her light spring jacket hanging half-off her shoulders, staring out at the dark street. I came up behind her and slid her jacket back up on her shoulders, letting my hands linger there.

"You didn't leave," I murmured.

"I can't," she said, her voice tired. "You just poked a big snake with a stick. You need to walk me home."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you what we were planning. We didn't want you and Alice anywhere near this. You weren't even supposed to be here tonight."

She finally turned to face me, her face no longer angry, just sad, "Edward, why did you do something so dangerous?"

"We needed something we could use against Royce. And now we have it."

She sighed and rubbed her fingers against her forehead. "I get that, it's just…"

"What?" I shifted closer to her, settling my hands on her hips. She wasn't pushing me away; that was a good sign.

"When the police showed up and Garrett explained what was happening…you were across the room, so far away…Edward, if anything had happened to you…"

"Ssshhh, love, don't," I pulled her into an embrace and she came, burying her face in my shoulder.

"And you can't do that, okay?" she mumbled into the fabric of my shirt. "No more making plans without me because you think it's for my own good. You made me promise I wouldn't do it so you can't either."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"We're in this together, right?"

I nodded against the top of her head.

"That means everything, even the bad stuff."

"Okay, everything. I promise. Forgiven?"

She pulled back to look at me, a rueful little smile on her lips. "I guess so," she sighed dramatically. "You know I can't resist you."

"I _count_ on that."

I was just leaning in to kiss her when a throat cleared behind me. I turned to see Garrett and my father standing just behind me. Bella coughed and stepped back. She was always a little uncomfortable showing affection in front of my father. Frankly, I was, too.

"Sorry to interrupt there, mate," Garrett said, clapping me soundly on the back, all his earlier boozy goodwill back in full force. "Just wanted to let you know that the Police Nationale blokes have hauled your friend, James off to headquarters."

"What happens now?" Bella asked.

"There will be charges pressed. The Police Nationale have been gathering evidence against him for quite some time, so they may throw the book at him. But I let slip the name of Royce King in front of him, so I think he understands now that his cooperation on that matter would be appreciated. Now we wait and see what the ruddy bastard has to say."

I sighed heavily. "Thank you for your help."

"Ach!" he waved me off, "Nothing I like better than taking out a right wanker that's got it coming. Besides, anything for my old war friends, eh?" He turned to smile at my father, who smiled back. I shot my dad a questioning look, but this wasn't the time or place to press him for explanations.

"I think we're headed back to Esme's," I finally said. "Did you want to come with us? I'm thinking we shouldn't wander the streets alone now that we've gone at Royce like this."

"Eh, I wouldn't worry about that bastard," Garrett huffed. "Now that we've got James in hand, he's likely sweating bullets about what the little rat says. He's not going to risk making things worse."

I nodded, that was good to hear, at least.

"I think I'll stay a bit longer and catch up with Garrett, if you don't mind, Eddie," my father said.

I don't know why I was still surprised, there was nothing my father could do or say that would shock me any more. Bella and I watched him head back inside with Garrett to seek out Emmett.

"Ready, love?" I said to Bella.

She sighed, "More than. I've seen plenty of this place for tonight."

I slid my arm around her waist as we headed for home.

*

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By the time we made it to bed, Bella seemed to be done being mad at me. She said little as she got ready for bed, but as soon as I turned out the light and climbed under the quilt next to her, she rolled towards me, pressing her body up against mine, sliding her arms around my waist. It didn't take long at all for that to have an effect on me and I nudged her chin up so I could find her lips with mine. She sighed in contentment and I let my hand slide down to her hip, pulling her in a little closer to me.

We followed our usual path, the gentle kisses growing more heated, my hands seeking out the more intimate parts of her body, her hands tangling into my hair, guiding my mouth where she wanted it to go and soon our clothes were off. I rolled her under me and settled in against her while I kissed her again. She moaned and arched underneath me and I felt myself slipping against her, just where I wanted to be. So close, one shift and I'd be inside her. Bella arched again, as if she was seeking me out, inviting me in. I dropped my head into the crook of her neck to breathe.

"Bella…I need to get ready. Just a second."

I rolled off of her, digging through the nightstand frantically for a French letter. I came up with one and made a quick mental note to get more at the pharmacy tomorrow. Having Bella living in the garret with me meant that these activities happened with far more frequency than I'd ever been used to, and I was _reveling_ in it.

I settled back on the bed on my back. Bella sat up on her heels.

"Can I?"

"Can you what?"

"Can I…you know, put it on you? Is that okay?"

I smirked at her audacious curiosity, so artless and uncalculating and so ridiculously sexy.

"If you want to. Of course."

I pulled it out of the little case and handed it over to her. "You have to…"

"I've watched you do it a million times, Edward. I know how it goes."

"Of course."

"Um…close your eyes."

"Why?"

"It makes me nervous to have you watching me."

I chuckled, but I closed my eyes as she asked, leaning my head back on my crossed arms, trying to distract myself from how it would feel to have her touching me like that. I waited for her hands, for the feel of her tentative touch, but it didn't come for a few long moments. I smiled again, imagining her looking at me and losing her nerve. And then…

_Oh, good God…_

So warm and so wet and oh, Jesus, that's her _mouth_! My whole body jerked in surprise and I nearly shouted. "What the….?"

I shot upright and opened my eyes. Bella was sitting back on her heels again, eyes wide in shock.

"Sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sure I did that all wrong! I just…"

"What are you doing?" I gasped.

Bella groaned and squeezed her eyes shut, before clapping both of her hands over her face in embarrassment. I immediately felt terrible. I never meant to make her feel that way.

"I never should have listened to Alice!" Bella mumbled from behind her hands.

"Alice? What's Alice got to do with anything?"

"She said men like that. She said _you'd_ like that! I _knew_ it was a stupid idea."

"No…Bella, stop," I leaned forward and gently pried her hands away from her face. "I _do_ like that. I just never…I wasn't expecting that you'd do that. It was rather sudden, that's all."

"But I'm sure I'm doing it all wrong," she whispered, not meeting my eyes.

I put a finger under her chin and raised her face to meet mine, "Trust me, love, it's kind of hard to get it wrong."

"So you'd like it if I did that?"

"Um, yes? But only if you want to. I don't want you to do anything you don't want just to make me happy, Bella."

Her face softened and then I felt her hand land on my thigh and slide slowly upward. "I think I want to try."

I swallowed hard and stroked her cheek with my thumb. Without another word she slowly leaned down and…she _kissed_ it. My eyes nearly rolled back in my head and the sound that ripped out of my chest wasn't even human.

I wasn't breathing. I couldn't breathe. I just held perfectly still, leaning back on my hands, staring at the top of her head. She raised her head a little and our eyes locked. Her face was clouded with desire, no doubt a mirror of mine. Her lips were parted and there was a slight sheen on the lower one. Oh, good God, is that _me _on her lips?

"Did you like it when I did that?" she murmured, the hot breath from her mouth ghosting over me.

All I could do was nod.

"Show me how to do it," she whispered. She reached forward and took one of my hands and guided it to the side of her head. Then she closed her eyes, lowered her head and slid me into her mouth.

It was all I could do not to explode right on the spot. Instead I fell back on the bed and concentrated on anything but what she was doing. I forced myself not to grip her hair too hard, not to thrust up into her. I couldn't do anything to scare her or make this unpleasant, because I _really _wanted her to do it again. My breath was coming in deep, heavy pulls and I was making ridiculous noises, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I just never wanted this incredible feeling to stop.

Gently, I took one of her hands in mine and guided it around the base, tightening my fingers over hers, showing her how to grip me and stroke me. The feeling of her tiny fingers coupled with the exquisite sensation of her lips and her tongue and every now and then her teeth, drove me right to the edge in moments. I was groaning, thrashing my head on the pillow, as I felt the tightening in my groin. I didn't want to pull her off, but releasing into her mouth was undoubtedly too much too soon.

"Ughhh, Bella….I need you to…you need to…" I couldn't form a complete sentence. And then she moaned…_moaned_ around me. I couldn't help it. My hips thrust up against her and my fingers tightened in her hair. My release was bearing down on me. I tugged on her hair and she seemed to understand, pulling back just enough to let me slip out of her mouth, but she didn't let go with her hand, continuing to stroke me just like I'd shown her. She stayed where she was, hovering right over me, as I groaned again and let go, spilling all over her fingers.

"Oh, God, Bella….that was…"

"A little messy," she finished for me, but I could hear the smile in her low, husky voice.

I kept my eyes closed as I let the end of the sensation wash over me. I felt her shift to the nightstand, cleaning up, no doubt. She stretched back out along my body, her face close to mine.

"Was that okay?"

"Okay? Bella, you have no idea. That was _amazing_."

She gave a small, pleased smile. I wrapped my arm around her back and pushed off, rolling over on top of her. Then I dipped my head in until my lips were right next to her ear. "And I'd like to say thank you by reciprocating."

She gasped and stiffened slightly. "That's…Edward, you don't have to do _that."_

"But I want to."

"You want to do…that? To me?"

I picked my head up then so I could look her in the eye, our faces just inches apart. She looked so puzzled, clearly confused that I'd want to do something that she seemed to think would be unpleasant for me.

"Trust me, Bella. I _really_ want to." I dropped down to kiss her jaw, all the way back to her ear again. "I've dreamed of doing it."

She let out a long, shuddering sigh and closed her eyes.

"Will you let me? I'll stop if you don't like it."

She nodded, her eyes still closed, and I was instantly aroused again. I took my time, kissing my way slowly down her body, sticking at first to the things we'd done before, the things she was used to and that I knew she liked. I let my hand slide up her thigh to touch her and I groaned to feel how aroused she was. She had _liked _what she did to me.

Slowly I traveled down over her breasts, her abdomen with my lips while my fingers stayed where they were between her legs. She breathed deeply, gripping the sheets on either side of her, her eyes squeezed shut and her brow furrowed. Then I gently let my tongue replace my fingers. She gasped and her hips bucked up.

"Oh…Edward… I don't…"

"Shhh. It's okay, Bella. Just relax."

I dipped my head to her again, tasting her just the way I'd fantasized about so many times. Her hands continued to twist in the sheets at her sides, her body writing underneath me gently. Then I added my fingers again and as I entered her, one of her hands flew to my head, her fingers wrapping into my hair.

"Mmm…Edward…oh…"

And then she gasped and arched up off the bed as her release broke over her. Her incoherent moans tapered off into one long whimper as I climbed back up her body. I folded her into my arms and rolled onto my back, pulling her with me. She came, boneless and pliant, resting her head on my chest, one arm thrown across me.

"Well?" I prompted gently.

"Mmm, that was…um…"

"Did you like it?"

She rolled her eyes. "I think it was pretty clear that I did."

"Good, because I did, too. And I want to do it again. Soon."

I felt her smile into my chest and she sighed. "I won't argue with you. I love you, Edward."

She said it all the time now, it shouldn't have still affected me like that, but it did. Every time Bella said she loved me, my face split wide with my big ridiculous happy grin.

"I love you, too, Bella. You have no idea how much."

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**A/N: Some of you are reading spanglemaker9's Esme outtake about her life during the occupation of Paris (La Resistance: http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5723397/1/La_Resistance, also on twilighted and ADF). Well I've got another little gem coming out very soon. It's a Jasper outtake which will reveal more about what exactly happened in Chapter 17 and his time as a combat reporter. Put me (justaskalice) on alert so you get it when it comes out. We'll also post the link once it's up. **


	25. Taking a Chance on Love

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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I woke up surrounded by the sweet, slightly musky smell of Edward's skin. I savored the warm feeling of being wrapped in his arms and smushed up against his chest. I knew he was awake because his fingers were drumming absently on the small of my back, sending waves of goosebumps scattering over my skin.

"Are you awake?" he murmured, his fingers drifting lower.

I pushed my face closer to his chest, and my nose squished sideways over his heart. "Mmmf."

He laughed and kissed my forehead. It was a deceptively sweet gesture, considering his hands were now grabbing firmly onto my buttocks. I squirmed a little, shifting my left leg so it draped over his hip. He was hard, not surprisingly considering our position and the time of day. What was surprising was how playful he was being. Our mornings had been so quiet and somber lately. I usually woke up before he did, and when I didn't, I woke up alone. To have him here, very much awake and clearly in the mood, threw me off.

He ducked his head down and kissed the side of my neck, pulling me from my thoughts and making me shiver. "I've been waiting for you to wake up," he whispered. I felt the tip of his tongue run over the edge of my ear.

"Is that so?" I breathed. My lips were close enough to his chest that they dragged over skin as I spoke.

"Mmhmmm." His hands flexed and I gasped. "You kept talking in your sleep. So many false alarms."

I pulled back to look at his face. "Talking?" Oh no. I used to talk in my sleep as a child. My mother used to have whole conversations with me as I slept, but it hadn't been a problem in years. Rose never mentioned it in the three years we roomed together in college. "What did I say?"

"Mostly my name," he said smugly. "But toward the end you kept talking about home, and Paris." His voice dropped a little lower, and he pulled my face up to his for a kiss, temporarily releasing my behind. "Are you getting homesick? We've almost got things wrapped up here, I'm sure between my father and Garrett, Royce will be taken care of in no time."

There was false confidence in his tone, and a hint of bravado. We had fallen asleep shortly after our escapades last night, but I for one was anxious to talk to Ed about what our next steps would be. The whole thing had been almost too simple, and I wouldn't rest easily until Royce was behind bars and couldn't come after anyone anymore.

I shook off my uneasiness and thought about Edward's question. Truthfully, I hadn't been homesick for weeks.

"No," I finally said. "I'm not. What about you?"

"Me?" he asked in surprise. "What about me?"

"Well..." I hesitated, not quite sure how to say it. "With your father here and everything. I thought you'd be a little, I don't know, nostalgic?"

His arms snaked around me again and hugged me tightly, but he didn't say anything.

"It's okay to miss your home, Edward," I said. That caught his attention for some reason, and he looked down at me with a frown.

"Paris is my home," he said firmly. Then he seemed to realize what he said, and his brow softened a little bit. "That's not right. Home is wherever you are. If you weren't in Paris, there would be nothing for me here."

I kissed him, unable to control the surge of desire and love that rushed through me. He rolled us slightly, and then I was pressed down into the mattress, his warm weight pushing me down, surrounding me.

When I pulled away for a breath, I reached up to gently cup his cheek. "I feel exactly the same way."

His answering smile was brilliant, and for a few minutes I was lost in soft touches and passionate kisses. A knot was forming in the pit of my stomach, and I knew this was the perfect time to tell him what I had decided. Home was with Edward, and Edward's home, as he said, was here. Nothing else mattered.

I forced my lips away from his, groaning lightly as he continued to trail sloppy, wet kisses over my neck and shoulders. His hands palmed my breasts, squeezing me just roughly enough to make the pleasant tingle between my legs surge.

"Edward," I gasped, placing my hands firmly on his shoulders. He was dragging his lips down the curve of my right breast, and while I was definitely interested in where he was headed, the need to tell him about what I wanted—no, needed—was too strong. I pushed down until he looked up, confused.

"Did you not want—"

"So much," I sighed, but kept him at arm's length.

"Then...why?" He looked so endearingly confused that I kissed him again.

"I need to tell you something."

He arched an eyebrow and nodded, encouraging me to continue.

"Do you promise you'll listen to what I have to say and not try to change my mind?"

He got a wary look in his eye. "No. Absolutely not."

I sighed and fell back onto my pillow. "It's nothing bad, I promise."

"I don't care," he said firmly. "Remember what you said last night? We're in this together. No matter what. That means neither one of us gets to make decisions without input."

I wrinkled my nose, but nodded. "Okay."

"Okay. So..." he prompted. His beautiful green eyes looked so worried.

"I don't want to go back to America," I said quickly, as if speaking faster would make this conversation easier. I was prepared for him to argue, so I kept talking, determined to get my whole statement out before he commented. "I want to stay here, with you. I know you said you'd come back with me, but I don't think I fit there anymore. You'd be miserable, and so would I."

I kissed him again, trying to pull strength from the feel of his lips. "I love you. I'm happy here in Paris. I'm happy with _you_. If you want to try going back to London, I'll be right there with you. I don't want to be separated from you."

"Bella," he breathed, but he didn't continue. We just stared at each other, his features stretched in stunned confusion, mine concentrated and, I hoped, sincere. "Bella, are you sure? Your family, school—"

"What about them?" I interrupted. "If we went back to Washington you'd be just as far away from your family and your life. The only difference would be that we'd both be unhappy there. Edward, we can be_ happy_ here."

"You're sure?" he asked again, the hint of a smile finally filtering through. "You want to stay here?"

"I'm positive," I whispered, weaving my fingers through his always-unruly hair and pulling his lips to mine. He met me with a forceful passion that I almost wasn't ready for, sucking my tongue into his mouth and moaning with abandon.

He was already positioned above me, and I couldn't have moved if I wanted to. His hands started to wander again, no longer so feather light as they forged burning trails down my side and across my stomach. I gasped when his lips closed over my nipple, pulling my attention from his hands and making me arch my back. A funny half-squeak, half-purr left my throat, and he laughed as he reached across me to the bedside table.

"Damn," he muttered as he pulled back with the French letter in his hand.

"Is something wrong?" I asked breathily. He shifted a little, and I felt his hardness move closer to me. Just a little to the right and we'd be connected. My body was humming, and I had to fight to stay still. I never would have described myself as a sexual creature before Paris, but with Edward I was insatiable.

"This is my last one," he sighed, tossing the empty case over his shoulder. It clattered to the ground somewhere near the corner of the room.

"Well, let's make it count then," I suggested with a sly smile. Unable to resist, I rotated my hips a little, feeling a groan rip through his chest as he struggled to put it on without separating himself from me. His answer wasn't verbal.

Almost immediately I felt him fill me in a fast, fluid movement, one hand still working me quickly as he started to kiss his way back up to my lips.

I thought I knew what this felt like—Edward moving in me, through me, the two of us twisted together and gasping for breath. I should have been used to the sensations that ripped through me by now, and the sounds of sweaty skin slapping together lightly as we tangled between his sheets. The plain truth of the matter, though, was that every time was different. There would be no getting used to it, no gradual decay into boredom or routine. I simply knew, deep down, that even if I spent the rest of my life trying, I would never experience everything that there was to know and feel with Edward.

He pulled me closer into his chest and sat up abruptly, changing our angle and wrapping his arms around my hips as we continued to move together. My eyes flew open in surprise and pleasure, and Edward chuckled a little as his eyes locked with mine.

"Shhhhhh. Just feel," he murmured. I didn't close my eyes again, preferring to watch his eyes narrow in concentration. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, and I focused on it as the tingling between my legs started to build and radiate outward.

"That's it," I gasped, breaking eye contact and gripping his shoulders tightly as we sped up again. He leaned forward and started kissing the crook of my neck, his movements increasingly erratic until finally he shuddered and collapsed, letting me fall back onto the pillows and resting his head on my breast over my thundering heart.

"Wow," he said eventually, dropping a kiss on the nape of my neck and rolling off of me.

"Mmmhmm," I hummed absently, not ready to open my eyes yet. When he came back to bed, he pulled the covers over our bodies and wrapped his arm around my waist, his stomach and chest flush to my back. We just laid there, soaking in the feeling. The sun was up now, peeking through the dirty skylight and reminding us that there were things to do today. We had to talk with Ed, break the news to Rose, and sometime in there I had to go to work. We had lives to live.

I laughed lightly at the thought.

"What is it?" he asked. I could feel his smile against my neck.

"It's just... this is our life now. Our _lives_, Edward. You and me."

He laughed, a happy, free sound that rang from his chest. "I'm looking forward to it, Bella." He kissed my neck and whispered in my ear, "So very much."

A half an hour later we were sitting in the kitchen with Ed, sipping terrible coffee. I had tried to make myself presentable, but I was afraid that my messy waves and too bright eyes were a dead giveaway for what we had been up to this morning. I wanted very much to make a good impression on Ed. Maybe Edward thought he didn't need a relationship with his parents, but it was possible that it wouldn't always be that way. And with everything I had heard about Kate looming over me, I didn't want to give Ed any reasons to think that I was less than worthy of his son.

"Have you heard anything from Garrett yet, Dad?" Edward asked. His face was calm, betraying nothing, but under the table I saw his hands clench into tight fists. I put my hand on his knee and patted him softly.

"We spoke this morning," Ed said. He took a sip of his coffee and winced. "The Police Nationale don't have anything concrete yet, but Garrett thinks there's a solid chance that James will cooperate. He's already let a few vague hints go. I think with the proper motivation he'll give us the information we need to arrest Royce."

"What about Royce?" I asked. "What if he hears that James is talking and tries to run?"

"It's a possibility," Ed admitted. "But even if he runs, he has to return to London first. And we'll get him there."

"Are you sure?" Edward asked, his voice grim and slightly accusatory. "After all, the Police Nationale haven't been able to scrape together a case against him in years. What makes you think they'll be able to arrest him if he runs?"

"I'm not a complete novice, Edward," Ed sighed. "I did my homework before I left London. Scotland Yard has been building a case on him for a long time, but they haven't been able to touch him in France. If he tries to go home, they'll be able to arrest him. That, combined with what the French have got, will be enough to convict him of a number of crimes. I have quite a few connections. You needn't worry."

Edward just stared at his father, completely nonplussed. "Connections," he said flatly. "I see."

The tension that always lingered between the two men seemed to thicken and surge. They stared each other down. I knew Edward had questions for his father, and their silent war had gone on for far too long. It would have to stop, and soon. But for now...

"Edward? I have to go to work now. Should I find Carlisle, or...?"

"I'll walk you," he said immediately, still staring at his father. Ed gave him a smile and a little nod, and he blinked and looked over at me. "Let's go," he sighed.

"Are you okay?" I asked him quietly as we walked to the café. He looked down at me and smiled.

"I'm..." He paused and blinked. "I'm not sure. It's been a very strange several weeks."

"I know what you mean," I chuckled, squeezing his hand. He smiled absently and swung our hands back and forth between us.

"It's just that I always thought I knew exactly who my father was. He was boring and consistent, snooty and stuck in his ways. He loved my mother and spent all his free time lecturing me about behaving like a gentleman. That's how I remember him."

"And now?"

"Now, it seems like I was mistaken about a lot of things. What if I've had it wrong this whole time?"

We stopped at the door to the café and he sighed. "I'm not sure about anything anymore."

I reached up to touch his face, smoothing his hair back from his forehead and trying to erase the deep worry lines that creased his forehead. "Talk to him, Edward. It's the only way you're going to get the answers you want."

"I don't know," he said slowly.

Kissing his cheek, I turned and walked toward the doors. "Think about it, Edward. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, but I think if you give the idea some time, you'll realize you need to do this in order to move forward."

He gave me a crooked smile and a nod. "Okay, I'll think about it." Then he straightened out his grin and shook his finger sternly. "Wait here for Emmett tonight. I have to play the early set at Le Tabou, so he's going to come and walk you back home, okay?"

I nodded and blew him a kiss before walking inside.

"Bonjour," I called to Angelique and Pierre as I wrapped my apron around my waist. "Ça va?"

Pierre gave me an absent wave from his spot behind the counter and Angelique grinned and walked over to talk to me.

"Very well, thank you," she said sweetly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Très bien," I answered.

We chatted back and forth, trading French and English until Pierre cleared his throat loudly and glared at us. Angelique burst into giggles and I rolled my eyes, but we got to work.

Later in the afternoon, Marguerite wandered into my section of outdoor tables. She was carrying a sheaf of loose leaf papers and a fountain pen, and for a few minutes I simply watched her arrange everything in impeccable order, straightening pages and testing the nub of her pen.

Before she could focus too entirely on her writing, I walked up to her table.

"Bonjour, Marguerite."

She looked up and smiled. "Bella," she said with a nod. "Nice to see you again."

"Can I get you anything?"

"A coffee and a menu, chérie."

I nodded and scurried off to get her order. The stern, older woman had been in my thoughts ever since I met her. She was the first honest to goodness female writer I had spoken to, and it was obvious she loved her work. When I asked Esme about her, she gushed for 15 minutes about Mademoiselle Badeau and her fabulous short stories. She even had a copy of one of Marguerite's early manuscripts, bound in worn leather and printed on a hand press. Edward was helping me translate it from French, and though we hadn't made a lot of headway, I was completely enthralled with what I had been able to read. Her writing was honest and plain. It was like she had granted me a seat inside her head, and I was privy to all her thoughts in one streamlined, perfectly articulated fashion.

I was hoping she would return to the café so I could talk to her about my own writing. Honestly, she scared me half to death, but I also knew that she would be blunt with me about the quality of my work. I wanted that honesty.

"Where are your friends today?" I asked, setting the coffee cup down in front of her.

"Probably still sleeping," she snorted. "The fools were out until 4 a.m. I prefer to get a little more sleep than that."

I smiled and nodded. "Me too. My friend Alice loves to stay out late, but I just can't get used to keeping those hours. I know it's not very Parisian of me, but late nights are difficult for me."

She snorted. "Well you're not exactly Parisian, now, are you, young one?"

My cheeks flushed and I looked down at my feet. "I suppose not."

When I looked up, she was staring at me critically. "And yet, here you are. Why is that?"

"It's a long story," I laughed.

She kicked out the chair across from her and my eyes widened. "Oh no," I stuttered. "I couldn't. I'm working."

She looked around at the empty tables that surrounded her. Angelique was lounging against the wall chatting with Benjamin, and Pierre was snoozing at the counter. "Yes, it looks like things are quite busy," she said dryly.

I sighed and sat down hesitantly. "What do you want to know?" The blunt force of her stare was intimidating.

"Everything, bien sûr."

So I started at the beginning with Alice's letter and my decision to leave for Paris. She peppered me with questions about leaving home and my journey to France, especially my ocean voyage. She wanted to know how I felt when I got off the train in Paris, and the first thing I smelled when I left the train station.

It took me most of the afternoon to get my story out. People started to trickle in, and I was forced to split my time between chatting with Marguerite and actually doing my job. I caught a few pointed stares from Pierre, but my customers were taken care of and my work was done, so he couldn't really complain.

The end of my shift found me cleaning off the tables and telling Marguerite about the raid on Le Tabou. She seemed completely taken by my words; she had stopped asking questions a half hour ago and was watching me with rapt attention.

"And now? What do you intend to do when all of this is behind you?" she asked after I had finished the story.

"Well, that's why I wanted to talk to you," I said slowly, not daring to look her in the eye. I took a deep breath. "I'm... I'm going to stay in Paris. And I want to try to write."

She nodded as if this made perfect sense. "You have an excellent grasp of storytelling. I'd love to see your draft."

"What draft?" I said blankly. "I have some notebooks with a few short stories and some character sketches."

"Don't be silly," she snapped. "_That_ is your story, Bella. The foreigner, arriving in a strange land and giving up everything for a friend. Living as an alien in a city where you don't speak the language. Surely you see the potential?"

"I suppose so," I murmured. "I started something that's more abstract about growing up, but—"

"That is the subtext of course," she said airily. "You don't want to beat your readers over the head with it. It's not your style."

"My style?"

"Yes, your style, child! The way you shape your words, the choices you make. Writing is about choices. Every word, every comma, every phrase is a choice. Your choices define who you are as a writer and an artist."

I stared at her, wishing that I was carrying my notepad and pen at that moment.

"Bah, I cannot explain. You will give me something you have written, and then I will show you."

"When?" I breathed. It was everything I was prepared to beg her for, and she was just offering it to me as if it was no big deal. I didn't want to blink in case she changed her mind.

"When is Esme's next party? I'll come and you will show me these notebooks of yours."

"I think there's one the day after tomorrow."

"Perfect. I'll be there."

A shrill whistle startled me before I could thank her. "Hey, kid, get the lead out!"

I whipped my head around and saw Emmett standing on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. He grinned and gave me a little wave. Marguerite gave him a disapproving look, but he only laughed and bowed. I rolled my eyes.

"Sorry, I think that's my cue to take my leave. I'll see you at Esme's party though, right?" I was still a little bit in disbelief, and something in me had to confirm that she was really going to look at my writing.

"Of course, of course," she said, dismissing me with a sharp wave of her hand.

I checked in with Pierre and tossed my apron to Angelique before running out to where Emmett still stood on the sidewalk.

"Ready, short stack?" he asked. When I nodded, he threw his arm around my shoulders and we started walking. He seemed in a hurry to get home, which I said out loud after I almost tripped because he was walking so fast.

"Sorry," he said, slowing down to a more sedate pace—sedate for Emmett, that is, I was still jogging a little to keep up with his long strides. "Rose got her crutches today and when I left Alice was walking into her room with an armful of ribbons. Alice can be a little overwhelming, and I don't want—"

"Rose to eat Alice for supper?" I finished, laughing a little.

"Well... kind of," he admitted.

"Still a little scarred from the other day, huh?"

"No, it's not that." He paused, seeming to collect his thoughts. "She doesn't like being helpless. I didn't mean to, but I was making her feel more helpless with the way I was treating her."

"Exactly," I said, happy that he understood Rose so quickly. Most people were a little put off by her refusal to be treated like a declawed kitten, especially because she was so beautiful. "I think it's because she's always kind of had to look out for herself. Her parents died when she was four, and her aunt raised her. Helen worked a lot, so Rose was either looking out for herself or over at my house. My parents aren't exactly the kind to coddle a child, even a pretty one." Emmett snorted and I gave him a wry smile.

"She's a lot like my mom," he said softly. "Independent, strong. Imogene McCarty never takes anything lying down." His face seemed to brighten as he grinned mischievously down at me. "So today I'm trying a new strategy."

"What's that?"

"You'll see," he laughed, refusing to say anything else, even though I pestered him.

Emmett's fears about Alice weren't that far off. Rose's bed was covered in piles of silk and fluttery ribbons, and Alice sat in the center, winding her crutches with pink and blue and green. Rose sat in her wheelchair, looking impatient and more than a little annoyed.

Alice was talking her ear off, providing a steady stream of conversation with no need for Rose to contribute. For a while, Alice had felt so guilty about Rose's situation that every time she came to visit the room was filled with tense silences and awkward pauses. Then one day, not long after Rose had opened up to me and Esme, I had walked into Rose's room to find the two of them curled up in her bed, teary eyed but smiling. I didn't ask either of them what had happened, but things seemed to get better after that.

"Finally," Rose sighed when Emmett and I walked in. "Bella, will you tell her that my crutches are fine and if I don't get to stand up soon she's going to seriously regret it once I'm walking again."

She was grumpy and glaring and more than likely actually cranky, but I couldn't help but smile. She sounded alive. Still, no need to push our luck.

"Alice, those are very, um, pretty, but don't you think you should let Rose try to start moving around?"

She scowled. "Pretty?"

"Stylish?" I tried again. She sighed loudly, but stood up and relinquished the crutches, muttering something about Philistines in the Holy Land. I walked over to Rose and crouched in front of her crutches. "You ready to go?"

She scrunched her eyebrows together, and for a second I saw fear and sadness flash in her bright blue eyes. Emmett must have seen it too, because he leaned over and picked one of the crutches up from her lap.

"Doesn't seem terribly difficult," he mused, hunching over and leaning heavily on it. "Anyone with half a brain could do it."

"I don't think brains have anything to do with it," Rose said coldly, though fear still lurked in her eyes. "And if they did, it wouldn't help you any."

"Ouch," laughed Emmett. "I thought we were friends, Rosie."

"Don't call me that," she said, sounding more and more frustrated.

"What? Your name?" he asked innocently. "Okay, how about Sam?"

"My _name_ is Rosalie."

He grinned, she glared, and Alice gaped. Emmett's "new strategy" was apparently making her so angry that she launched herself out of her wheelchair through sheer willpower. She looked like she was ready to give it a shot.

"Anyway," Emmett continued, "I doubt you have the upper body strength to use these. I could wrap one hand around your arm."

That was the last straw.

"Hand it over," she growled. He simply arched an eyebrow at her. "Now."

"Okay, okay," he said. He gave it back to her and held up his hands defensively. "Go ahead. But don't say I didn't warn you."

She didn't respond, merely curled her lip and gritted her teeth. "Bella, can you steady my chair for a second?"

Emmett crossed his arms and leaned casually against the wall. His whole attitude was one of studied indifference. He simply quirked his eyebrow, like he was daring her.

"Rose," I started.

"Just do it, Bella." She was practically snarling. I shut up and steadied the back of her chair while Alice propped the crutches up. Rose put her feet on the ground, gingerly at first but then with more confidence as she leaned into the crutches and hoisted herself up. It took her a couple of minutes to steady herself but once she had she smiled triumphantly.

"No upper body strength?" she gloated.

"Standing's the easy part," Emmett said easily. "It's not like you've gotten anywhere."

Angry pink spots burned into the apples of her cheeks. Her bruises were gone now, and she was starting to fill out a little, putting on the weight she had lost. With the little bit of color her anger had given her, she looked radiant.

"Fine," she fumed. "Then watch me."

I kept right up behind her, just in case she fell backwards, but I wasn't stupid enough to touch her. She was determined to do this, and I wasn't about to stop her.

Slowly, she stuck one foot out, swinging her arm swiftly so that she could continue to move forward. About half way across the room, she had to stop and lean on my shoulder for a second. Emmett's smile widened as she took a couple of deep breaths, but she was past acknowledging him. Her anger was still simmering just below the surface, but there was something else now. Her mouth was set in a thin line and her eyes burned with an energy I hadn't seen there in a long time, even back in Seattle.

When she reached the wall where Emmett was leaning, she straightened up as tall as she could and looked him in the eye.

"Okay, okay," Emmett said, putting his hands up again, this time in surrender. "Maybe you're stronger than you look, _Rosie_."

Her eyes flashed, and without another word she turned and walked the length of the room again, faster this time and with more confidence. When she reached her chair, she didn't wait for me to steady her. She simply reached behind her with one arm and while keeping her balance with the other.

"Maybe?"

He just ducked his head and smiled before walking out of her room.

"Well." She preened a little, then seemed to remember that Alice and I were in the room. I could tell the instant she realized it because her smile faltered a little and she cleared her throat. "Well, I guess I showed him."

She turned her chair to face out the window, closed her eyes, and smiled into the sun.

"Yeah," I murmured, staring out into the hallway where Emmett had disappeared moments ago. "I guess you did."

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**A/N: In case you missed it, I posted the Jasper outtake last week. It's called Frozen, and it's currently available on and on fanfiction here: ****http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5807871/1/Frozen**


	26. When the Sun Comes Out

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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"Edward, should I show her this one about Marie, or this one I wrote last week down by the river?"

I pulled my eyes away from her face to look at the loose leaf paper Bella was waving in my face.

"Bella, show her either one. Or show her both. I already told you I thought they were brilliant." And that was absolutely true. After Bella had met this woman at the café who'd agreed to take a look at her writing, she'd finally caved in and let me read some of it. She was great at it, of course. Bella was great at everything. But she wouldn't take my word for it and was incredibly nervous about Marguerite's arrival.

"You're no help at all," she muttered.

"Bella, darling, just relax. You can do this."

She sighed and stuffed her papers back into her notebook. "I'm just so nervous. She's a _real _writer."

I slid my hand up under her hair and gripped the back of her neck gently as I leaned in to her ear. "So are you."

Her face finally softened as she turned to smile at me. The way she looked tonight literally took my breath away. She was always beautiful, but Alice had brought home this black dress tonight that was absolutely stunning on her. The neckline was so wide that it was nearly off her shoulders and it dipped into a deep v in front. The dark fabric set off her pale skin and dark hair and eyes. She was striking and sexy and _all mine_. I ran a hand up over her nipped-in little waist, over her ribcage, stopping just shy of the bottom of her breast. Her breath caught and her eyes darkened a little and my brain clouded over with lust.

I was such a stupid, arrogant prat. I knew Bella was innocent when we met, and I thought that meant that I'd be holding myself in check with her for a long time as she grew accustomed to us and our intimacy. Stupid, stupid me. How could I have known how she would respond to me, to my kisses, to my touch? How could I have known that after the initial awkwardness, her desire would match mine at every turn? And I never guessed that I'd become so totally and completely enslaved to her, to her lips, her skin, her body. Because I _was _enslaved, wholly. All she had to do was look at me and I was nearly on my knees. It might be ridiculous and a little pathetic, but I didn't care in the least.

Right now I wanted nothing more than to drag her into some dark corner and kiss her and touch her and explore everything hidden by her pretty dress.

Only the sound of sharply raised voices overhead kept me from doing it.

"Emmett, I swear if you don't get out of my way…"

"Rose, you practically broke your neck on the first step!"

There was a party tonight, the first really big shindig Esme had thrown since Rose had come to stay. At first, Bella had assumed that Rose would want to stay in her room, and she'd planned on staying with her to keep her company. Plus, at Esme's, empty bedrooms often didn't stay that way as the hour got later and people got drunker, so she wanted to stand guard and fend off wandering lovers. But Rose surprised everyone by announcing her intention to actually come downstairs for the party.

Alice had flown into a frenzy, dragging home armloads of dresses, and for once she had a grateful recipient. Rose actually seemed to enjoy going through them with her, unlike Bella. Bella was delighted to see Rose show an interest in anything at all at this point and helped her pick out one she liked. Rose had chased the two of them off a few minutes ago, though, to finish getting ready on her own, and now Bella and Alice were killing time downstairs in the parlor with Jasper and me. But it seemed Rose had made up her mind to try and get down the stairs herself and Emmett was having none of it.

"Will you stop fussing, you brute?"

"Keeping you from killing yourself isn't exactly fussing!"

Alice went running out of the front parlor behind Bella and the two of them peered up the stairs anxiously. Jasper and I followed after and the four of us waited at the foot of the stairs to listen to the impasse work itself out.

"Rose?" Bella called up the stairs. "Do you need a hand?"

"No, I do not!" Rose snapped from overhead. "Which is exactly what I'm trying to tell this big bully!"

"Rosie," Emmett broke in, "you just can't go down the stairs on crutches in a splint."

"Really? Watch me!"

There was the sound of a slight scuffle and then Rose shrieked. Bella started up the stairs, but Alice's hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm. Bella looked back at her and Alice just raised her eyebrows.

"Put me _down_!" Rose shouted.

"Uh-uh. Forget about it," Emmett muttered.

"You're going to get us killed, you moron!"

"Oh, _now _you think the stairs are dangerous?"

"No, I think _you're_ dangerous, you crazy person!"

As Emmett clomped down the stairs with a wriggling, furious Rose in his arms, her crutches clamped under one arm, we all fell back several feet to make room. And frankly, to get out of the line of fire. Rose looked like she could spit nails. When he reached the ground floor entryway, Emmett crouched and gently set Rose down on her feet. She yanked free of him angrily then looked down to smooth her dress back in place. Then without a word, her eyelids fluttered and she began to sink to the floor. Emmett was there like a shot to catch her just as the rest of us had barely begun to move.

"Woah, there!" Emmett said, holding her up as Rose's eyes snapped back open.

"Rose?" Bella asked, coming forward to lay her hand on Rose's cheek. "Do you want to go back upstairs and lie down?"

"No!" Rose's voice was surprisingly strong considering she just nearly fainted. "I can't bear to spend another minute lying in that bed like some invalid."

I exchanged a quick smile with Bella, since that was exactly what Rose was, but nobody wanted to be the one to tell her that.

"Alright, then, Rosie," Emmett said amiably. "Let's just get you settled in the parlor."

He stooped down and lifted one of Rose's arms over his shoulders as he put an arm around her waist. She didn't protest; she just let him help her into the front parlor where he gently lowered her onto one of the low sofas and picked her feet up so she was partly reclining.

Bella grabbed my wrist and pulled me after her as we followed them in. Emmett was perched carefully on the sofa next to Rose's stretched out form, adjusting a pillow behind her back.

"There now," he said. "All set?"

Rose's eyes flickered up to his face. "All set," she said softly. "Thank you."

Emmett paused for just a second before he answered her quietly. "No problem."

Bella looked to me, eyes wide with disbelief at the tender little display we'd witnessed. Nobody said anything for a moment, then Alice cleared her throat.

"Hey, Bella, help me get the wine glasses down? Jazz, Edward, can you guys hit the wine cellar and see what Esme's got for tonight?"

"Um, yeah. Of course. Come on, Jasper."

Jasper gratefully left the room close on my heels. Bella and Alice were right in front of us, heads together, whispering urgently.

"What the hell was that about?" Jasper grumbled.

I held up my hands in defense. "I can't begin to guess, and I'm staying out of it."

"Good plan," he growled.

It took us quite a while to sort out the wine since we'd just about finished bringing the bottles up from the cellar when Carlisle poked his head in and told us to bring up an entirely different set and we had to start all over. By the time we'd gotten it all settled and each acquired a glass of our own, the house had started to fill with people and the girls had been absorbed into the crowd.

I made my way back to the front parlor with a glass of wine for Bella, thinking she would be with Rose. But instead, Emmett was still perched on the couch, having a quiet conversation with her, so I backed out of the room again. I headed back through the first floor, still on the prowl for Bella. I finally found her in the dining room with Alice.

Alice was standing on a chair, demonstrating to a small group of people how the gold fringe on the top of the drapes would look smashing across the top of her dress. Bella was in the cluster of people, but her attention was taken up with Julian, who'd shown up at some point tonight. Julian, the Bird Man. I stepped up behind her, ready to rescue her from an undoubtedly awkward conversation with him, but instead I was surprised to find the two of them deep in discussion.

"Did you read the essay I told you about?" Julian was asking.

"I did," Bella nodded, "and I see what you mean. You were exactly right about the symbolism, but I'm not sure it holds the same iconic resonance that the novel did."

Julian shook his head quickly. "There's another one you must read, one of his earlier pieces. I'll ask Esme, I'm sure she has it. You read that, and then tell me what you think!"

"Bella?" I interjected, uncertainly.

She turned to me and smiled. "Edward! I was just catching up with Julian."

"I see that. Hi, Julian. Bella, do you want to help me pick out some records to play?"

"Sure!" she said before turning back to Julian. "Tell Esme which one I should read, we'll talk next time."

Julian was all smiles as he patted her hand indulgently before he turned away.

"What was that?" I asked, stunned.

"Julian," she shrugged. "You know Julian."

"Of course I know Julian. When did _you_ get to know him so well?"

"Around here, Edward. Julian's always here. You should talk to him sometime about books. He's read absolutely everything. His taste is a bit eccentric and he's got a few crazy notions about things, but he can be so insightful in his way."

Bella took the extra glass of wine from me and took a deep pull from it, her eyes sparkling at me over the rim of her glass. Her lips, darkened with wine, made me think all kinds of bad, lascivious thoughts, and without a word I stepped towards her, forcing her back. She startled a little, but once she caught the look in my eye, her lips curled up in a smile every bit as lascivious as mine and let me back her into the corner of the dining room.

I leaned in and kissed her lips softly, and then moved on to the curve where her neck turned into her shoulder. That spot had been calling to me ever since she came downstairs in this dress and I really wanted a taste. She sighed softly as my lips came in contact with her skin and I reached out with my free hand to grasp her hip.

"Bonjour, Bella!"

The sound of someone calling her name startled me and I straightened up. Jean Paul, our own resident political hothead was passing through the dining room and was smiling, waving in a friendly way at Bella.

"Oh!" she said in surprise, "Jean Paul! Nice to see you!"

"Delightful to see you, ma chère. Enjoy your evening, although it seems you already are."

He kissed the tips of two fingers and made her a jaunty little salute as he passed on towards the kitchen.

"I didn't know you knew Jean Paul," I said.

"Edward, he's here all the time. Of course I know him."

"I've never seen him so…friendly. He's usually too busy screaming about Algeria to be polite."

Bella waved a dismissive hand. "We had a good chat one night. He's just very passionate and feels misunderstood."

"And he thinks you understand him?" I couldn't keep the growl out of my voice.

"Come on, you," she murmured with a smile, laying her hand against my cheek reassuringly, "Let's go check on Rose."

She started through the house ahead of me, holding my hand, pulling me after her, smiling now and then at someone she knew. I shook my head in disbelief, unsure where this confident, sophisticated girl had come from. I remembered the first night I brought her here, when she'd trailed after me through the house, barely speaking and seemingly overwhelmed at every turn. That was all gone. This girl was at ease, comfortable, surrounded by friends…she was _home_. With me. She turned to look at me over her shoulder, her smooth, bare shoulder that I still wanted to attack with my mouth, and her face lit up with a smile. My heart sputtered to a stop in my chest and I felt my own stupid grin splitting my face. I loved her and she loved me and we were home.

I was feeling on top of the world. Everything life had to offer was mine. There was nothing I wanted that I didn't already have. Then we rounded the corner into the front parlor and found my dad talking with Esme and that feeling dissipated like smoke. Because while my life here in Paris was turning out to be just about perfect, I was beginning to realize that my life in Paris was not all there was to me. There was a life I left behind in London. And I was going to have to face it…soon.

Bella sensed my change in mood and pulled me into her side, looking up at my face questioningly.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Just…this. Me and my family. I think you're right, Bella. I need to talk to him."

She smiled gently and squeezed my hand. "It will be okay. And it'll be really good for you."

"I know, it's just…."

"Hard," she finished for me. "Trust me, I get it. I still need to call my dad and tell him I'm staying here with you. I can't even imagine what a disaster that's going to be."

"Hey," I murmured, letting go of her hand so I could slip my arm around her waist, "I'll be there. It's our future, we'll face it as a team, right?"

She smiled faintly, not looking at all reassured. I didn't blame her. Talking to Bella's father filled me with dread and I was still half-expected him to show up in Paris any day now, ready to beat me to a bloody pulp and drag her back home. Trying to win him over as I told him that his daughter was moving to the other side of the world to be with me…no, I wasn't looking forward to it at all.

My dad was chatting with Esme and Carlisle, all three of them smiling and occasionally laughing. Rose was still on the sofa across the room, and Emmett was still sitting with her, telling her some story that had her smiling.

"Why, look who's come!" Esme's trilling voice rang out through the parlor as Garrett appeared at the door in all his blustering, red-faced glory.

"Esme! My favorite bonny Parisian girl! It's been years since I've been to one of your parties," he boomed. Esme smiled indulgently and crossed to him, kissing him soundly on each cheek, marking him with her lipstick as she always did. Bella slipped away from me and went to crouch next to Rose on the sofa, no doubt explaining who Garrett was.

A few moments passed as my father and Garrett exchanged hellos and Carlisle appeared with a full glass of wine for him. The four of them stood together for just a few minutes laughing and talking, and I was once again struck by how my father seemed to slip right into their company so easily. I would have thought he'd hate Esme's house and all the crazy people here, but he seemed to be having the time of his life. I just didn't know what to make of him at all anymore.

Jasper and Alice must have heard Garrett's huge voice echoing through the first floor because they appeared in the parlor just a few minutes later. Jasper fell into conversation with them immediately, making me feel like a malcontent, scowling in the corner by myself, so I crossed the room, smiling hesitantly at my dad. The look of sheer relief and delight on his face at the sight of me willingly coming to talk to him made the guilt claw at my chest. It was impossible for me to doubt that he genuinely cared for me and wanted to fix our situation. Now I just needed to man up and take the next step. But not tonight.

"So, Garrett," Jasper asked, "you know Esme and Carlisle from the war, then?"

"Ach, Esme came later, didn't you, love? But Carlisle and I toughed it out in the trenches, eh? I wouldn't be here today without this man!"

"I didn't know you saw combat," I said to Carlisle, slightly stunned.

Carlisle shook his head, "I didn't. But I did work with the Resistance. And Garrett here was part of a Jed team." Jasper whistled appreciatively, but that word meant nothing to me. At my puzzled expression Carlisle clarified, "The Jed teams were deep undercover agents for the Allies. They were dropped into France by parachute in the middle of the night to take up their assignments. Only poor Garrett here had the misfortune of landing on a fence in the dark!"

Garret rolled his eyes dramatically, "Not only did that bloody pilot toss me out of the plane thirty miles shy of the drop target, he dropped me right in the middle of a pig farm! I practically impaled myself on that fence. Ach, the blood! The stench of those filthy pigs!"

"How did you figure in, Carlisle?" I asked. Everyone in the room had gradually crept closer to hear their story.

"They asked me to go down and help out. With my medical training, I was the best they could do."

"Bloody well saved me life!" Garrett blustered, clapping a hand on Carlisle's shoulders. "Those were good times, eh, Carlisle?"

Esme rolled her eyes. "Only you could think back fondly on being impaled on a fence in a strange country, an _occupied_ country!"

"Ah, but Esme, didn't we have a purpose? Wasn't it noble?"

"Bah!" she snapped, "I'd hardly call it noble. The whole country starving, overrun with Nazis. And you!" She pointed at him sternly, but there was humor and affection sparkling in her eyes. "Sailing in and thinking you can pass yourself off as French!"

"Ach, you're just jealous that my French is better than yours, lass," Garrett winked at her. Carlisle and my father cracked up at that, "Hard times, to be sure, but we fought the good fight, eh?"

He slung an arm around Carlisle's shoulders and looked like he was about to get maudlin and weepy, but thankfully my father noticed it, too, and jumped in to re-direct him.

"Ah, Garrett, I believe when we spoke earlier today you said you'd have some news for us?"

"Ach! Yes! That I do."

"Is James talking?" I pressed. I felt Bella step up behind me and her hand slipped into mine.

"He's already talked," Garrett clarified, and that steely determination of his had returned full force in an instant. "The little rat has spilled his guts to save his own skin. Told us everything we'd ever want to know about all his dirty dealings with Royce King. And dirty they were."

"So?" I urged. "What happens now?"

"Well," Garrett rubbed the back of his neck, "Royce got wind of James turning rat and fled the country."

The room audibly deflated as we all sank back in despair. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Emmett reach out to pat Rose's hand reassuringly.

"Aye, but here's the catch," Garrett continued. "Based on the information James gave us about his business dealings, we were able to freeze his French bank accounts a few days ago. Now, I think the bastard was planning to set out for some tropical location that doesn't look too favorably on extradition. But to get there and set himself up, he needs money. He may have left his...ahem, his family behind in England," at this he cast an uneasy glance at Rose, but she just kept her eyes fixed on her hands, "but he's been sending money home to them the whole time. His own little version of an offshore account, I suppose you could say."

"What happens next?" I asked, "Can you get his accounts in England frozen, too?"

"No need, my boy. The English police arrested him this morning at the ferry terminal in Dover."

As much as the air seemed to leave the room a few moments ago, now it felt like an electric charge ran through it. Suddenly everyone was in motion and talking at once, a veritable tornado of activity with Garrett right in the center. He held his hands up patiently until the chattering died down to a manageable level.

"Tell us everything!" Bella said, laying her hand on his arm.

"Well, he didn't start his criminal activities when he landed in France after the war. He was up to no good in England, too. There were allegations of the same sort of shenanigans, along with accusations of war-profiteering. You might imagine that last one is a bit of a sore point in England. Just like here, the man proved to be as slippery as an eel. Lots of things implied, but nothing that could be proved. When the heat got a little too intense, he decamped for France and started again. Except that the English authorities haven't been sitting on their arses for the past six years. They've been building their case, especially as far as the war-profiteering charges are concerned. There's a great deal of political pressure right now to bring those vermin to justice."

My father cleared his throat then and chimed in. "When you called me, Edward, I spoke with my contacts in the police department about the case against him. They felt the case was strong enough for an arrest now, but extradition is quite a lengthy and involved process and there wasn't quite the motivation to press on. Once I explained what he'd done here, a few well-placed people felt the time had come to take the necessary steps."

"But the bastard saved them the trouble!" Garrett laughed. "Once we knew he'd made a run for it, I made a phone call or two and made sure an army of officers was there in Dover to meet him when the ferry docked."

Garrett rocked back on his heels, smiling and clearly satisfied with himself.

"So that's it, then? It's done?" Bella breathed.

"Aye, lass," Garrett said softly. "That's it."

"What happens to him now?"

Rose's unfamiliar voice, sounding so strong and firm, startled the room and everyone turned to look at her. My father's face grew soft and he crossed the room so he could crouch next to the sofa.

"The authorities won't let him get away now, Rosalie. He's facing a battery of criminal charges, stemming from the extortion and the assaults he's ordered. And his name has come up in a couple of missing persons cases. He's going to be quite busy explaining that. We suspect now that he's securely behind bars, people might feel safe enough to tell what they know about him. And aside from the criminal proceedings, the War Department will be investigating him as regards the profiteering charges. We're coming at him from all sides. He won't get free of us, I promise you that."

Rose's chin was up and her eyes were stony. "Good," she said shortly. "Because if he gets away from you, he's going to be facing me, and I won't let him walk away with his life."

There was a stunned silence in the room at Rose's fierce declaration, then Emmett muttered softly, "Good girl."

My father smiled at her and patted her hand. "We'll take care of him for you, Rose. This is done."

"Thank you," she said softly.

I turned back to Garrett. "I can't thank you enough for your help, Garrett."

Bella was next to me, pressing his hand between both of hers. "Yes, thank you. It's so…I'm so happy they caught him."

Garrett waved his massive hand dismissively. "Ah, it were nothing. And your father did a fair bit as well, Eddie."

I ducked my chin as I glanced at my father, still across the room, now smiling and pulling up a chair next to Rose. "I know he did," I murmured.

I felt Bella's hand close around mine and squeeze, and I squeezed back.

"Well, it's been a good day's work," Garrett nearly shouted, inhaling deeply. "I could use something a fair bit stronger than wine. Esme, lass?"

She rolled her eyes at him but she was smiling as she hooked her arm in his and steered him out of the room towards the dining room.

"I'm going to see if Rose is tired," Bella whispered. I nodded and touched her arm gently.

Bella crossed to Rose, who was laughing at something my father said to her.

"Rosie? Are you okay?" Bella asked, sinking down on the sofa next to her. "Do you want to talk? Or do you need to rest?"

Rose smiled at Bella and reached out for her hand. "We'll talk tomorrow. Right now I want to just be normal and maybe have a little fun," she said. Then she glanced over Bella's shoulder and met my eyes briefly. "And you should, too, Bella. I think Edward wants you all to himself for a little while."

"Are you sure, sweetie?"

"Go!" Rose said, waving her hand lightly. "Emmett will help me back upstairs when I'm tired, won't you?"

Emmett smiled back at her. "Sure thing. Go have fun, short stack. Rose is in good hands here."

Bella smiled and kissed Rose on the cheek before crossing the room to stand with me. I slipped my arm around her waist when she got close enough. Bella closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around my ribs, resting her cheek on my chest and sighing.

"I can't believe it's over," she whispered.

I rubbed my hand up and down her back. "I know how you feel. Come on, love."

I grasped her hand and pulled her after me, thinking of dragging her up the stairs and finding some nice quiet corner where we could celebrate the good news properly. She smiled up at me and let me pull her out of the parlor. We made it as far as the entry hall before she fell into my arms and my lips found hers. We started out laughing and teasing, but it was growing heated, my hands dug into her waist, her hands dug into my hair. I needed her. I needed to be inside of her and I needed it soon. We were going to have to escape up the garret immediately to finish this the way I wanted to.

"Mademoiselle Swan?"

A deep, gravely, woman's voice made me start back and release my grip on her.

"Oh!" Bella gasped, her hand flying instinctively to her hair to smooth it. "Marguerite! You came!"

"Of course I came, my dear. I told you I would. But it seems you have your hands full just at the moment."

The massive, stern-faced woman in the severe black suit standing in the open doorway was eyeing me carefully through the smoke from her cigarette. I shifted and hunched a little, hoping that my physical reaction to Bella would slip by unnoticed.

"Oh, this is just Edward," Bella said. I swiveled to raise my eyebrows at her in disbelief. _Just Edward?_ Bella caught herself and reached out for my hand. "Edward! This is my boyfriend, Edward. Edward, this is Marguerite. You've been reading her book with me."

"Of course," I said, stepping forward and extending my hand to her. "Enchanté, Madame."

"It's Mademoiselle," she barked. "Pleased to meet you, Edward. Now, first things first. One of you must take me to Esme Benoit! It's been far too long since I've seen that dear woman."

"Right this way!" Bella said, waving an arm towards the dining room. She looked back over her shoulder at me apologetically. "We'll finish later!" she whispered, as she followed Marguerite out of the entry way.

All I could do was smile at her. "Don't rush, love. We have all the time in the world."

Because for the first time since we met, that was the truth.

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**A/N: Thanks for reading!**


	27. Choose

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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I had been incredibly nervous about showing Marguerite my writing, but after talking to her for about a half hour, I forgot why. She pushed me around, asking me questions I'd considered before but hadn't really answered. Always it circled around to the singular question: why? It was eye opening, and I found myself thinking more and more about the story she had urged me to write. My story. When she described it, it didn't seem as daunting somehow.

"She's just so ... I don't know, forceful? Thoughtful? Ugh, that's not the right word. I want to be just like her. It makes me sound like a silly little girl, but it's true." Edward and I were getting ready for bed after Esme's party. It was almost four in the morning, and I should have been dead on my feet, but between Ed's news about Royce's arrest, the wine I had to drink, and spending a few hours with Marguerite, who was officially my new hero, I was completely keyed up.

Edward watched me from the bed, smiling lazily at me as I paced the room. He was half naked and spread out over the entire mattress, his head propped up by a pile of pillows.

"You're not silly, love," he laughed. "But you're making me dizzy. Come to bed."

He patted the blanket next to him and smirked a little. I slid next to him and he immediately wrapped his arms around my waist and started kissing me. I sighed a little and tilted my head, shivering when he reached the crook of my neck.

"I think you had an ulterior motive, Mr. Cullen," I giggled.

"You promised me," he mumbled, moving his lips toward my chest and rolling me under him. "I think it's later now."

He was pushing my nightdress up around my waist when I let out a loud, long yawn, the kind that makes your eyes water and leaves you breathless for a few seconds. He stared at me in shock for a second before laughing and propping himself up on one arm.

"Am I boring you?"

"No, no," I protested, then immediately interrupted myself with another huge yawn. "I just never stay up this late and I think I'm...," another yawn, "slowing down."

He snorted and pulled back the covers. "That may be a slight understatement." He nudged me until I rolled under the covers.

"You're so pushy," I grumbled, nuzzling his bare chest before kissing above his heart. I yawned again. "I'm sorry, I didn't know I was this tired."

He laughed, jostling my head around as his chest shook. "Eh, it's okay. I can wait." He kissed my forehead and then wrapped his arms around my back. "You're good for it. I know where you live."

"Mmmf," I agreed. My eyes fluttered closed and I fell asleep listening to the steady thrum of Edward's heart. Home.

The celebratory atmosphere still lingered in the air the next day. Alice and Esme were trilling away at some song in the kitchen when Edward and I came down in the morning, and the small table was crowded with our friends and family. Rose and Emmett were talking in low murmurs, Ed and Jasper were exchanging stories about London, and Carlisle was valiantly trying to steal his coffeepot back from Alice. It was noisy, and confusing, and absolutely wonderful.

"There he is," Esme said loudly, cutting through the din as Edward and I entered. Ed looked up from his conversation and smiled broadly.

"Slept the day away, have you?" he teased, nodding toward the clock.

Edward rubbed his neck and gave a half smile, clearly still a little uncomfortable with the turn his relationship with his father had taken. "It's not so late."

"Not so late? It's a quarter of eleven," Ed laughed. He stood up and crossed to where we stood. "I thought I'd take a walk down to see the sights today, and Carlisle tells me you paint down by the Tower. Would you... would you consider showing me around?"

His smile dimmed a little, and something else crept into his tone. It was tentative and cautious. There was a loaded silence as the two considered each other.

"Bella, would you like to go for a walk with us?" Edward asked a little desperately. I considered it for a minute before shaking my head gently.

"You should go. Show your father the Île de la Cité. He'd like that. I have some things to do here."

"But, but—" he stuttered, giving me a frustrated glare.

"You go and have fun," I said breezily. "You know where to find me. You know where I live, remember?"

His eyes softened a little and he gave a weak chuckle, leaning into kiss me softly. "You're right, I do."

"Oh, and Edward?"

"Hm?"

"You may know where I live... but my parents don't. I don't have to work today, so I thought, I hoped, we could call them?"

The color drained from his cheeks. "Oh."

"We have plenty of time, though. Don't rush your walk. We'll call them this evening. That way we can catch them after church and before they sit down to brunch."

He nodded and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Right. Whatever you think is best."

Ed was following our conversation, his head bouncing back and forth as we talked. When Edward didn't say anything else, he shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on, son. Let's get some fresh air. You look like you need it."

Edward stared at his father's hand, still resting solidly on his shoulder, then raised his eyes to Ed's face. He shrugged his shoulders a little, and Ed's hand fell away.

"Okay."

After the two of them left, Esme burst into giggles.

"You Englishmen," she wheezed, poking Carlisle in the ribs. "Always proper, even when you're terrified."

Carlisle cracked a smile. "Terrified? Whatever do you mean?"

"Our poor Edward, spending time alone with his father and meeting Bella's parents in the same day," she answered. "I thought he would faint. And then there's your brother, who could barely muster the courage to ask his son to go for a walk alone. The whole while they're nodding and smiling, stiff as pokers. Your entire country needs to take some lessons from the French!"

"I beg your pardon," Carlisle said. "I believe I resemble that remark."

"Yes, darling, but you wear it so well," she teased. He stopped her with a kiss, and she pulled him closer.

"Bella?" Rosalie said softly. "Would you mind helping me to the WC?"

"That's upstairs, Rosie, I'll take you," Emmett said immediately.

"You can't carry me everywhere," she snapped. "I have to get used to these crutches, and I'm going to have to start practicing stairs sooner or later. Bella will make sure I don't fall, won't you?"

I wasn't about to say no while she was glaring at me like that, so I nodded. "Of course." He looked unsure, so I added. "Why don't you meet us in Rose's room, Emmett?"

The walk to the second floor WC took about ten minutes, and we had to take several breaks, but Rose made it there without any help from me, stairs and all. She still needed help bathing, but she could manage everything else on her own, so I waited outside for her until she was done. Then the two of us set off down the long hallway toward her room.

"I hate this," she sighed, catching herself as one of her crutches hit a snag in the carpeting and made her stumble. "I feel so ... clumsy."

"You're getting better." I steadied her elbow and gave her an encouraging smile. "Just think. In a few more weeks you'll be out of that cast. You'll be dancing in no time."

A shadow fell across her face. "Dancing," she said sadly. "I don't know."

"You're a beautiful dancer. Don't you remember our senior prom? You went with Jeremy Piper, and he had to beat back the rest of the boys in our class with a stick just to keep you to himself."

Emmett laughed as we entered the room. "I'd have loved to see that."

"She's exaggerating," Rose said gruffly, but she blushed prettily. "Jeremy was being ridiculous. I didn't go out with him after that because he was too... he was too possessive." The small smile she had worn slipped from her face, and she sank into the chair by her window with a dejected sort of thump.

"I've never been much of a dancer, myself," Emmett said casually. "I stepped all over my prom date, I'm afraid. She never looked at me twice after that."

Rose snorted. "I'm not surprised. You've got all the grace of a duck."

"Hey, those are fightin' words, sweetheart. I'll show you graceful."

"He does turn a lovely pirouette." Esme walked in and sat down on the bed, laughing at Emmett's mock outrage.

"Esme, chère, I thought that was just between us!"

"Such grace shouldn't be kept silent," she laughed. They kept poking fun at each other, letting the atmosphere in the room lighten bit by bit. I watched Rose's face relax, and soon she was smiling and teasing Emmett right along with Esme. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"So," Emmett said, turning to me. "Eddie's going to meet the parents today, eh?"

I nodded. "We're calling them tonight. I need to tell them that I'm staying in Paris, and I haven't told them that we found Rose yet."

She smiled faintly and turned to look out the window.

"I'm sure they'll be relieved to hear it," Emmett said, watching Rose carefully. "Although they might take the news about Paris a little hard."

I snorted. "A little hard? I'm sure we're in for one of my father's patented tirades. Remember what he said when we told him we were going to college, Rose?"

"What do you need to go all the way to Seattle for that you can't find here in Forks?" Rose said loudly. She lowered her voice and pushed her lips forward while twitching an imaginary mustache. "In my day, we didn't need college. We worked for a living!"

The two of us broke into giggles, and Esme shook her head. "That's a man for you," she sighed. "My father was just the same. Although our arguments had more to do with independence in general and not education."

"Do you think you'll go back to Seattle, Rose?" Emmett asked. His face was serious for once, his voice tentative.

"I don't know." She stopped laughing and sighed loudly. "School seems a little... silly after all of this. Maybe Charlie was right. I still have Aunt Helen's house. I could always just go home. I'm sure one of the boys at home wouldn't mind marrying a ruined woman." She said it flippantly, but she couldn't hide the hurt in her eyes.

"Oh Rose," I whispered.

"Now that's just nonsense," Esme said briskly. "You _could_ go home, of course, but then what? From what you've told me, there's nothing left for you there but an empty house and a handful of memories. What would make you happy? What do you want to do, child?"

"What do I want?" Rose said angrily. "What I want doesn't matter. He took what I want."

"Damn it, Rose. You don't believe that," Emmett responded with equal force. He stood up and walked around to the front of her chair, forcing her to look at him. "You're better than this. Stop letting him push you down. You got out. You lived. _You beat him_."

"What do you know?" she snapped. "Perfect Emmett, successful businessman, doting mother, picture perfect life. You don't know what I've been through. So don't you tell me what to do, because you have no idea."

"No, Rose, maybe you have no idea."

She looked up at him, tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes. "My parents died when I was four. My aunt loved me, but she didn't know how to raise a child. And I just lost my baby because the man who said he loved me beat me until I nearly died. What have you possibly experienced in your life that you have the gall to tell me what I can and can't do?"

"When I was eight years old, my mother packed up all of our clothes in two suitcases and put us on a bus to Ohio."

She stared at him.

"My father was a drunk, Rose." She opened her mouth to speak but he reached out and touched her lips with a finger, stopping her. "No, I need to tell you this. We didn't have a lot of money, and Pops didn't get work often. The Depression sucked all the jobs out of our town in Tennessee, but his family had been there for decades, and he was a stubborn son of a bitch. So we stayed.

"He was a mean drunk, and my mother just sat back and took it. She let him hit her, and then when he passed out, she'd put him to bed and clean herself up. I used to get so angry with her. I couldn't understand why she just didn't stand up to him."

"Why did you leave?" she asked.

"The old man only hit me once," he said. "Just once. Ma was cooking dinner, and he came through the front door looking for a fight. He cuffed me on the side of the head and sent me crashing into the old wooden curio cabinet we had in our front room. It fell over on top of me. I wasn't too hurt, just a lot of bruises and a few cuts, but that was it for Ma. We left the next day.

"She told me once I was older that she would have let him do anything he wanted to her as long as she could keep me safe and happy. But the second he touched me we were gone.

"I didn't have a perfect childhood. Ma raised me on a teacher's salary. We told people my father was dead. As far as I'm concerned, he is. My mother is a strong woman, Rosie, just like you. She walked away. She told my father to take a flying leap and we started over. She got her teacher's license while raising a pain in the ass kid, and she supported us with two part-time jobs. So don't you sit there and tell me that he took everything from you. He didn't. You can have anything you want. You just have to go after it."

"Em, I—"

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me," he said firmly. "That's not why I told you that story. I'm fine. I worked my ass off to get here, and I have great friends. So do you, if you just open your eyes and look around."

She blinked, and a tear trickled down her cheek. He wiped it off with the corner of his sleeve and then sat back on his heels.

"Now, enough tears. What do _you _want, Rosie?"

"I want to go back to school," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that. What did you say?"

"I want to go back to school," she said, a little louder.

"Come again?"

"I want to go back to school, and Royce King can take a long walk off a short pier!"

Esme laughed and clapped her hands. "Now you've got it! This calls for champagne!"

"In the middle of the day?" I teased.

"You should know, Bella, it's never too early for champagne. Emmett, come help me select a bottle."

"Right behind you, beautiful."

After they left, the room was quiet. Rose didn't seem interested in talking, and I wasn't going to push it. Instead, I walked over to the window and opened the sash, letting the cool breeze in.

"Bella?"

"Yeah, Rose?"

"If I haven't said it... thank you."

We spent the afternoon celebrating Rose's decision. Alice and Jasper arrived some time after Esme poured me a second glass of champagne, and we got progressively louder as time went on. Alice was in the middle of telling a funny story about her childhood in New York City when Edward poked his head in the door. He was alone.

"You're not getting drunk, are you?" he teased. "I'd hate to have to explain to Chief Swan that his only child has turned into a lush."

"Trust me, he's not going to let you do much explaining," Rose laughed.

"Just the same," he said. "Are you about ready?"

"Bee in your bonnet?"

"Something like that."

I got up, ignoring the catcalls that Emmett and Jasper threw at us as we walked downstairs to the kitchen, where Esme's phone was.

"Have you been out this whole time? Where's your father?"

"He's with Carlisle. We've been back a while, but I needed a little time to think about things."

I grabbed his hand and pulled him to a stop. "Hey." He looked down at me and raised his eyebrows. "It's just a phone call. If you were meeting him in person, he'd pull a shotgun on you. The worst he can do this way is yell at you. We're separated by an ocean and a whole continent. It's going to be okay."

"I know," he said slowly. "I just... I've never really...I don't know how to do this."

"Neither do I, so let's figure it out together."

"That sounds good to me."

It was a little after 10 a.m. for my parents, which gave them just enough time to have gotten home from church and start cooking breakfast. I made the connection and tried to keep my breathing steady. When my mother answered the phone, I exhaled loudly in relief.

"Hi, mom. It's Bella."

"Charlie! Bella's calling, get on the phone! You said you'd call every week," she scolded. I was holding the phone between my ear and Edward's and he grinned at me.

"Things have been a little busy over here."

"Bella? Hello?" My father's voice suddenly echoed through the connection. Edward winced.

"Hello, Dad. How are you?"

"Don't give me that line, young lady. Where have you been? You haven't been answering your phone. Did your number change? If it didn't take more than a month to get you, I'd have sent Jacob after you by now."

"We've talked about this already," I sighed, rolling my eyes at Edward. "Jacob has no business coming anywhere near me anymore. That's over."

"Well, we'll see," he said. "You'll be back soon, and the two of you never could stay apart too long."

"Actually, um, that's why I was calling." Edward squeezed my hand and nodded encouragingly. "The reason I haven't been in touch is that we found Rosalie."

My parents erupted into questions, talking over each other and pushing me for information. I kept things as brief as I could, but there were certain details that I had to share that I knew would catch their attention.

"So Rose and I have been staying with a friend of mine, and she's going to stay and go back to school once she's well again. And I—"

"A friend, huh," my father interrupted. "What kind of a friend? What happened to that Alice girl you were living with?"

"She's living with her boyfriend," I answered. "And we're staying with a good friend of mine and her... her husband. He's a doctor, and he's been taking care of Rose." It wasn't exactly true, but he didn't need every sordid detail.

"Hmm. And where are you staying?"

"In the attic garret. There's a sort of a loft up there. Rose has her own room on the second floor. But the reason I'm calling—"

"Have you given any thought to when you'll be coming back?" my mother said, talking over me again. I groaned internally. "You know, you could probably finish up your classes this summer if you left now."

"I'm not coming home, Mom."

Silence. Then the inevitable—

"You damned well are coming home!"

"Dad, please just listen for a minute."

"No, you listen, young lady! Your mother and I have put up with this Paris charade for long enough! Now you've found Rosalie—"

"And we're so glad she's alright, dear, please tell her we send our love," my mom interrupted. Edward covered his mouth laughed.

"Yes, well," my dad continued, a little thrown by the interruption. "Now that you've found her, you're getting yourself on a boat and coming home. I'll meet you in New York, and we'll put this whole thing behind us once and for all."

"I've met someone," I blurted. Edward looked stricken, but I couldn't figure out how else to raise the topic, and honestly, telling my father that I wanted to stay in Paris and be a writer probably wasn't going to be much more convincing.

"What?" His voice was dangerously low.

"Is he French?" my mother asked, only sounding a little surprised.

"English, actually," Edward answered.

"Oh," she gasped.

"Mom, Dad, this is Edward."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Swan," he said. It was a little surreal, standing there in Esme's kitchen, introducing my boyfriend to my parents from 5,000 miles away.

"Edward what?" my father asked, still in that low, suspicious tone.

"Edward Cullen, sir."

"How old are you, exactly, Edward? And how did you meet my little girl?"

I felt my cheeks heat up at that comment, but Edward took it in stride. "I'll be 24 in June, sir. And I met Bella when she was looking for Rosalie. She's actually staying with my aunt and uncle right now."

"I see. And where do you live, Edward?"

He paused and stared at me, green eyes big as saucers. I shook my head frantically, but he said it anyway. "With my aunt and uncle, sir."

"How many bedrooms do they have at that house?"

"Quite a few," Edward said vaguely. His face was beet red now, and I was worried he was going to hyperventilate.

"Bella?"

"Yes, Dad?" My mother had gone silent, and I knew she'd left me to the wolves. There was nothing she could do for me anymore.

"Are you living with this man?"

I gulped. "Well, technically, I suppose you could say that. But—"

"What do you do for a living, Edward?"

Oh no. There was no way he would be satisfied with Edward's answer. I tried to think of a way, any way to spin his occupation as bohemian painter and jazz pianist, but no matter which way I twisted it, it sounded the same. In other words, not good.

"I'm an artist, sir."

"An artist? What kind of an artist? No, Renee, I think I'm entitled to ask these questions of the man my daughter is living with." His voice raised up a couple of notches, and I braced myself. My mother had clearly tried to whisper something to him, to calm him down, but he wasn't having any of it.

"I'm a painter and a musician," Edward said. The pink was fading from his cheeks a little, and he looked oddly determined. "I paint during the day and sell my work. Most nights I play jazz piano."

"Do you make much money at that?"

"Enough, sir."

"Enough for what? You freeload off of your uncle and aunt, spend your days sitting around painting, and spend your nights seducing innocent young women?"

"DAD," I said, appalled. "You don't, you can't just..."

"No, Bella, I want to answer him," Edward said. I closed my eyes and held my breath. "I know you're worried about your daughter, sir. I can only imagine what it's like to have your child so far away. But Mr. Swan, I swear to you that all I want is for Bella to be safe and happy. I may not make a lot of money, but I love your daughter with my whole heart."

"And you think that's enough? Love?"

"Yes, sir, I do. Respectfully, sir, your daughter is the smartest, most capable young woman I've ever met. She's talented in her own right, and she's working very hard on her own dreams. I will always support her, in everything she does, but I don't think she'll need my financial support for much longer."

"Bella, what is he talking about?" my mother piped in. "Waitressing?"

"Thanks a lot," I mumbled to him. He smirked at me. "I've been doing some writing, actually," I said louder. "I've met quite a few authors here, and some of them have agreed to help me with my work. They say I've got promise." I was exaggerating again, but it seemed called for.

"She's being modest," Edward interrupted. "She spoke to a woman who has been extensively published for almost four hours last night. Marguerite is going to introduce her to a publisher."

"That's not for certain, and anyway I'm just starting out."

My mother started to speak again, but my father talked over her. "I don't like it, Bella. Why can't you come home and write in Seattle? Or better yet, Forks?"

"Because," I said loudly, "I love Paris, and I love Edward. I'm happy here. I don't want to go back to Washington. I don't want to be a teacher. I don't want to marry Jacob."

"And are you going to marry Edward? This artist who basically admitted he's not able to provide for you?"

"I don't know, Dad, maybe we'll just live in sin for years." The sarcastic comment flew from my mouth before I could stop it. My mother gasped, and I thought Edward's eyes were going to pop out of his head.

"Isabella Swan!"

"I'm sorry, that was disrespectful. But you have to understand that I've made my decision. I'm staying here, with Edward. I hope you can understand. I love him very much, and I'm happier here than I've ever been."

There was a long pause, and I could hear their muffled voices in the background. Edward hugged me and I tried not to cry. I wanted them to be happy for me. I wanted them to be polite to Edward and understanding of my choices. I wanted it so much my heart ached.

"Bella?" Surprisingly, it was my mother who spoke.

"I'm here."

"I'm proud of you. Give your father some time, he'll come around."

"Where did he go?"

"He's stomping around in the trees outside. I'm sure he's cutting kindling as we speak."

I laughed abruptly, making myself hiccup.

"Edward, dear? It was very nice to... meet you, I suppose. You be good to our girl, understand?"

"Yes, Mrs. Swan, I will."

"Call me Renee, sweetheart. Mrs. Swan makes me feel old."

"Renee," he said with a smile.

"Take care of each other. And Bella Marie, you call home more often, I don't care where you're living. I miss you." Her voice shook, and I could tell she was nearing tears.

"I promise."

"Oh! And tell Rosalie I've been taking care of Helen's house for her. She shouldn't hesitate to call if she needs something. She's family."

"I'll tell her. Thanks, Mom. I love you."

"I love you too, Bella. Behave yourself. Be safe, and call us soon."

We said goodbye, and after the receiver clicked I continued to hold it to my ear. Edward smiled, took it from me gently, and hung it up on the hook.

"That... could have gone worse," he said.

I shook my head, laughing through the tears that had sprung from my eyes. "I guess."

He kissed me, slowly and sweetly, not trying to take it further. It was a kiss for its own sake. It felt perfect.

"We'll be okay."

I looked straight into his eyes and knew that he was right. We would make it through this thing with my parents, and life would go on. It would be wonderful.

"I know."

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**A/N: We're approaching the end of the line! Just a few more chapters. Thanks for reading!**


	28. Nature Boy

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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**The timeline of this chapter dovetails with Chapter 27**

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I stepped out of Esme's front door behind my father and took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders for the moment. I knew exactly what Bella was up to, practically shoving me out the door with him. She wanted us to talk. She'd wanted us to talk for ages. And now that Royce had been arrested, my father would probably be leaving soon. In a few hours we needed to call Bella's parents and break the news that she was staying in Paris with me. I had no idea how that would go or what kind of shape Bella would be in afterwards. I might not get another moment alone with my father. The time was now.

I knew that. And in a way, I wanted to talk to him. We'd made a lot of progress in dealing with each other while he was here, and he'd proven without a doubt that he was only here to help, because he cared about me. He'd reached out, so now I needed to reach back. I knew all of that, but it was still really hard. We just weren't that way. We'd never been that way. Even when I still lived at home and things were at their worst, I don't recall ever just talking to him about anything. Of course, that was probably part of the problem.

"Well," he said brightly, turning to smile at me, "it's your city, son. Where do you recommend we walk?"

I shrugged awkwardly and rubbed the back of my neck. "Ah…let's head over to the river. You should see the Seine."

He nodded his acquiescence and we started walking. It was late May now and one of the best times of year in Paris. Warm and fragrant, flowers everywhere. I always loved this city, but spring was incomparable. I got distracted for a moment imagining the whole summer ahead of me, enjoying it with Bella.

"So I'll be heading back to London soon," my father said, pulling me back to the present.

I nodded, "I imagined as much. Listen, Dad, I can't thank you enough for all your help. It's such a relief to know that bast…that man is done and can't hurt another girl the way he hurt Rose. And she's so much better already."

He nodded thoughtfully. "She's a lovely girl. I'm glad she's setting herself to rights. She shouldn't let him ruin her life."

"I don't imagine Bella will allow that," I chuckled.

"No, I think you're right about that."

He paused for a while, as if he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure how. I was more than happy to wait him out if it meant that he'd go first. "Bella is a lovely girl as well. You're a lucky man to have met her."

"I'm glad you think so. I know you never approved of Kate." There. I said it. It was out there.

My father inhaled heavily and it almost looked as if he flinched. "Look, Edward, I regret some of the things I said about Kate. You're right, for a long time we didn't think she was right for you. We thought you were too young to be so serious about a girl. But we should have respected your feelings. I see that now."

I glanced out absently across the water and shoved my hands in my pockets. Time to give back. "I've had a lot of time to think about it since…since it all happened. And I'm older. I'll never really know how it might have worked out between us, but in some ways, I think you were right. We were too young. And part of it was me being pig-headed and stupid. I think I hung on to her so tightly because you wanted me to let her go."

He didn't say anything right away, he just nodded, also looking out across the river.

"I'll always regret fighting you so hard about bringing her to Devonshire. If I'd listened to you, that girl might be alive…"

I held up my hand to stop him and shook my head, "We'll never know what would have happened or what wouldn't have happened. Trying to guess will just make us crazy. I've moved on and let her go. It's alright."

He smiled at me, his own hands stuffed into his pockets. "When did you get to be so wise?"

I smirked. "Five years is a long time. And I haven't exactly been sitting around on my duff here in Paris." I shrugged then. "Alright, so I've been _mostly_ sitting around on my duff. But sitting around gives you a lot of time to think. And grow up a little."

"I see that."

We walked on for a bit in silence, both clearly mulling over all we'd just said. He was sorry about Kate. I'd have guessed as much, but hearing him say it was good. And surprisingly freeing. I felt like I'd been ready to let go of her and all of that old pain and anger for a long time now, I just needed my father to help me nudge it loose. Already Kate was feeling more like a memory that I could visit now and then, and less like an open wound that still needed tending.

"Can I ask you something?" I finally said at length, mostly just to break up the silence.

"Of course, Edward."

"You and Carlisle. And the war. Why do I get the feeling there's a story there? I thought you were just the neighborhood air raid warden."

He smirked, an expression that I suddenly thought made him look a lot like me. I'm going to look just like him when I'm older, I realized with a start.

"Hmmm," he murmured. "Where to start? Well, you know of course, that Carlisle and Esme met during the war."

"Yes, working for the Resistance."

"Well, it was a bit more dramatic than that. She was a spy."

I practically choked on my laughter. "Pardon? Esme? A spy?"

He chuckled a little in return. "Yes, and quite a good one. She entertained the Nazis and in turn, shared everything she heard with Carlisle, who was her contact."

"How did you figure in?"

"I was _his _contact."

I just stared at him for a minute. "But you were in England."

"Precisely. He needed to get Esme's information out of France and into Allied hands. I did that part."

"But…" I sputtered for a second, trying to figure out which of the dozens of questions crowding my head I wanted to ask first. I settled for the simplest one. _"How?"_

"Well, Carlisle had been travelling in Europe for some time by the time the war started. He'd gone to medical school in Italy but when the fascists took power, he left. He spent some time in Spain and in the Netherlands before he finally landed in France. He was already involved in some political groups; he had been since he'd lived in Italy. He knew the situation in France was getting precarious. I urged him to come home, but he felt he wanted to stay and help. He had friends that were involved with the Resistance in its early stages and he felt he could be useful. Communication would be a problem, we knew that. So while we still could, we worked out a code. Our father had the land…you remember Grandfather Cullen's estate?"

I nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"It was always our father's plan for Carlisle and I to manage it together. His travels made that impossible. But it did provide us with the cover we needed to pass information. It was all about the estate, about how certain fields should be cultivated, which crops were to be planted. Quite clever, really. So Carlisle wrote letters home all full of advice about the estate, but really it was full of secret information on the Nazis that Esme had gathered, all in code."

"So, what…you just passed it on to the army or something?"

"Ah." My father smiled, rubbing the back of his neck, just like I did when I was nervous. "It all got more complicated than that. I was rather involved with the Free French Army, those on the outside looking to assist France. It started with passing on Carlisle's information, which I did all throughout the war. But I did other things as well. I helped plan strategic sabotage, trained Jed teams, that sort of thing. That's how I met Garrett. I trained him and his partner prior to their drop into the Occupied Zone."

He said it so off-handedly, as if he was describing a part-time job he'd once held.

"You planned sabotage??"

He nodded.

"What did Mother think of all this?"

He gave me an appraising look out of the corner of his eye. "I think you can guess what your mother thought of it. She wanted nothing more than for Carlisle to come home when the war broke out. She wanted him to settle down and help me run our father's estate. Instead, he stayed in France. He worked as a spy, and he got me involved, too."

"That's why she's so angry at him. Him and Esme."

He nodded. "It's not her fault, Edward. She just wants those she loves to be close to her and safe. You know that."

Oh, how well I did. After Kate died and I ran away to London, I remembered her sobbing and begging me to come back home. And till I died I wouldn't forget the way she wept when I told her I was leaving for Paris.

"She worried herself to pieces about him all through the war, but she understood that he couldn't leave. But once the war was over and he told us he'd met this French woman and was staying for good…"

"I see."

"Yes, your mother harbored a bit of ill will towards Esme for quite some time. That and she feels like she stole her son."

"What? Esme had nothing to do with me leaving! She and Carlisle didn't even know I was coming here until I showed up on their doorstep!"

"I know that, Edward," he said, holding up a hand to placate me. "But just think about how it feels for your mother. You ran away and didn't call or write for five years. Esme stepped in to care for you in the place of your own mother. It stands to reason she might resent her a bit."

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "I'm sorry. I had my reasons when I left. I really did. But I should have kept in touch. That was wrong of me. I think I was just trying to… I don't know… punish you both or something. I'm sorry. I was such a prat."

"It doesn't matter now, Edward. Besides, I think I've acknowledged that there was blame on both sides. But your mother does miss you. Rather desperately."

We walked along in silence for a bit as I felt progressively worse about myself. I'd made a lot of mistakes with my parents. Granted, they had, too, but it didn't erase what I'd done. Five years. I didn't know how I'd ever make up for that.

"Maybe I should move back." The words were out of my mouth before I even realized I was thinking them.

"Move where, Edward?"

"England. Home. I know Mum misses me. Maybe I should just go home. Bella would come…"

"No, Edward."

"No? You don't _want _me to?"

"It's not that. We miss you. Your mother misses you terribly. And we'd love nothing more than to see you in London again. But now that I've spent some time with you here, seen a bit of your life here…no, this is your home. I see that. It's where you belong, both of you. You'd be miserable back in London."

I smiled and shook my head a little. "I'm sure Mother would disagree with you if you asked her."

He laughed softly, "She might at that. Which is why you won't tell her I said that."

I laughed out loud at that, and so did he. It was miraculous; my father and I were laughing at something together. I looked out again across the river.

"That's where I met Bella," I said reflexively, pointing at the tip of the Île de la Cité. I couldn't lay eyes on the little green spot of park without thinking of that night now. "Well, we sort of met there. She might argue with me about that."

"I really do like her, Edward. She's a wonderful girl. And I like what she's done to you…how you are with her. She seems to bring out the best in you."

I said nothing, I just ducked my head and smiled.

"Have you given any thought to the future?" he continued.

"Well, she's decided to stay here in Paris, which is fantastic. I wasn't really looking forward to the idea of living in Washington."

My father was looking at me in mild horror and I realized that he probably had no idea that I'd been planning on following Bella back to the States.

"She'd follow me to London if I asked her to. You know that, right? We're together, no matter what."

He nodded in understanding. "I am glad she's decided to stay. Both for the selfish reason that I'd hate to have you so far away, and also because she seems to fit here as well as you do. The two of you seem at home in Paris."

I smiled. "Yes, she does fit here. I'm glad she's finally seen it for herself."

"And now that she's settling here? Do you think you two might get married?"

I sputtered and choked, trying to catch my breath. It was the last thing on earth I expected him to ask at that moment. Although really, now that I thought about it, it wasn't at all a ridiculous thing to wonder. Would we get married? Probably. Right? Eventually? Did I want to marry Bella?

_Yes._

Wow. Yes, I did. Well, maybe not tomorrow, or even next month, but yes. The rest of my life with her…_yes_.

"Um…"

"I didn't mean to put you on the spot, Edward."

"No, it's not that. I honestly hadn't thought…I mean, yes, I want to marry her. But I think….hmmm. I have a feeling she'd say no if I asked her."

My father's eyebrows pitched up sharply. "You think she doesn't want to marry you?"

"No, not exactly. She loves me. And I'm pretty sure she's in it forever. But she's…all of this, Paris, me…it's not exactly the direction she was imagining for her life. But I think she likes it…not doing the thing that everyone expected of her. And getting married…"

"People would be expecting her to."

"Exactly."

"Well, give her time. Let her just be herself for a while. All the rest will fall into place when it's meant to."

"Sounds like a good plan."

"I know I said you shouldn't move back to London, but Edward, we'd love it if you'd bring her for a visit. I know your mother will want to meet her when I've told her about Bella. Do think about it."

"I will. I'd like that. I'll ask Bella."

"Wonderful." He beamed at me, and I couldn't help but smile back. We wandered a little farther along the quai, soaking up the sunshine, commenting a bit on the things we passed and the people along the way.

"Esme tells me you come down here to paint," he said conversationally.

"Most afternoons, yes."

"I'd love to see what you've been working on, Edward."

"The stuff I do here, that's just for tourists. To earn a few francs. I do have a few things I've been working on that aren't bad, though. The one I was painting the night I met Bella is coming along. Do you want to see it?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, let's head back to Esme's then."

We turned back towards Boulevard St. Germain and home.

*

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"So it was a good talk, then?"

I'd just finished telling Bella all about my conversation with my father. Just like it had when it actually happened, it left me feeling both tired and exhilarated. I slumped back a little in my chair, watching people stream past our table outside the café where we were having dinner.

"Yes, it was good. Very good. He wants us to come and visit soon, so you can meet my

mother. Is that something you'd want to do?"

Bella leaned across the table and put her hand over mine. "I'd love it. We'll go as soon as we can make the arrangements."

I smiled and leaned over to refill her glass with wine.

"No, that's enough for me, Edward," Bella said, laying her hand across the top.

I smirked and pulled her hand away gently before re-filling her glass. I'll admit it; I was trying to get my girlfriend drunk. Well, at least tipsy. But she deserved it. Hell, after everything we'd been through, today and for the past several days, we both did.

First I survived that grueling, but ultimately positive conversation with my dad. It was a long time coming and I'd been dreading it. But in the end it was right and by the time I got finished showing him my paintings back at Esme's, it felt like we had a whole new relationship. It felt good. Great, even. Not being mad at him anymore made me feel a hundred pounds lighter.

I held on to that feeling for hours, right up until it was time to call Bella's parents. I knew it needed to be done, but that didn't make me any less terrified. It didn't help that the whole thing started off about as badly as it could go.

I knew Bella wanted to be cagey about our living arrangements, but somehow she got us boxed into a corner and it all came out. Me and her, living together in sin up in the garret, as she blurted out sarcastically. That went over with Police Chief Swan like a lead balloon. Bella kept trying to tell me he'd be fine eventually, but I still wasn't convinced. I wouldn't put it past him to send Bella's ex-boyfriend after her anyway, just the way he'd threatened. Although hearing her father talk about Jacob and Bella, like they were some foregone conclusion and that if she just came home, they'd be married in a heartbeat...just hearing him say it, even knowing it wouldn't happen, made my blood boil. And I swear if that Jacob bloke ever showed his face in Paris, I wouldn't answer for what happened to him.

In the end, although her father stormed off in a fury, her mother seemed to come around a bit. She even sounded friendly to me by the end of the call. At least I felt like I had one possible ally in this new relationship.

I was so relieved to have it behind us. Not just that phone call, although that was huge, but all of it; Bella's parents, my dad, Royce and James, all now happily in the past, that I dragged Bella out of the house to celebrate. We didn't go far, just to Café Brasant, right in the neighborhood. But the food was good and the waiter brought us a generous carafe of the vin du patron. The night was warm and mild and so we sat outside at a tiny table on the sidewalk, side by side, watching the pedestrians stroll by as we leaned into each other and stole kisses, and ate leisurely.

Bella kept trying to resist more wine, but somehow I kept managing to get her glass full and she kept drinking it. She wasn't drunk, but I was pretty sure she was_ relaxed_, smiling and laughing as she picked at the last of her tarte tatin. I wanted to just relax along with her, but a couple of things from the day just wouldn't leave me alone.

Living in sin.

I certainly didn't feel like what we were doing was wrong, and I was confident that Bella didn't feel that way either. After all, I knew her well enough to know how principled she was. She simply wouldn't do it if she felt like it was wrong. And what I said to my father's earlier questions was true; I was pretty sure that if I asked Bella to marry me, she'd say no. But should I try anyway? Was that the right thing to do? The honorable thing? Maybe it would do some good in smoothing things over with her dad.

And who knows? Just because she was okay living with me didn't necessarily mean she was content with things just as they were. Maybe she _wanted_ to get married and I was too stupid to see it. Maybe I was wrong in assuming she'd say no. I'd never know for sure if I didn't ask her.

"Come on," I finally said, pulling her up out of her chair and leaving some bills on the table for the check.

"Where are we going now?" she asked, all soft and smiles as she leaned into me. I smiled back as I bent down to kiss her.

"Just take a walk with me."

She seemed happy to comply, wrapping her hands around my arm, leaning against me as we wandered slowly towards the river. I didn't really decide where to go, but it seemed my feet just led us there automatically. Because where else would we go? The Square du Vert-Galant, where we began.

"Look where we are!" she said brightly when we got to the bottom of the stairs down from the Pont Neuf.

"And for once it's not raining," I said.

"Well, the rain was handy for one thing," Bella said as we passed through the gate and down the walkway to the tip of the park.

"What was that?"

"Keeping everybody else away so we'd have it all to ourselves," she murmured, her lips right next to my ear.

"Oh?" I said, turning my head to smirk at her a little, "do you have plans that require privacy?"

She tipped her head back and laughed before twirling away from me and leaning back on the wrought iron fence. "If you come over here I'll show you."

There was no way I was refusing that invitation. I stopped in front of her and grasped the fence on either side of her hips, leaning in till I was flush against her. "Here?"

"Mmm," she mumbled, tipping her head up and kissing the underside of my jaw. Her hands came to rest on my waist and I tipped my face down to capture her lips. I kissed her long and deep, tangling my tongue with hers until I heard her moan softly. I let go of the fence and moved a hand to wrap around her ribcage, letting my thumb just brush the side of her breast. She shifted her body in closer to mine in response. It all felt really good and I was in danger of getting completely distracted and pulled under before I got around to doing what I came here to do. I pulled my lips away from hers and she latched on to my neck instead. Not helping.

"Ah…Bella?"

"Mm-hmm?" She was kissing along my jaw, towards my ear.

"Can we talk about something?"

"Now?"

"Yeah."

She stopped and looked at me. "Is everything okay, Edward?"

"Yes, fine. Everything is fine. I just…." Suddenly I was inexplicably, overwhelmingly nervous. This was Bella. My Bella. I could say anything to her, I knew that. But this was really hard, especially when she was still wrapped around me. I took a step back to give myself a little space to breathe and clear my head.

"You seem upset. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "Okay, so I've been thinking. Or wondering, maybe. Well, it was something my father said, and then something your father said and well…."

"Just say it, Edward."

"What would you think about…should we maybe…well…do you want to get married?"

Then she laughed.

She threw her head back and laughed.

"Bella?"

"Oh, Edward! Please don't let my father scare you like that!" she collapsed against my side, still laughing as she tried to talk. "I know he sounds terrifying, but I promise he's not going to show up in Paris with a shotgun and drag us to the nearest church!"

I laughed then, too, because the image was sort of funny. But I also needed her to understand that I was really offering, if it was what she wanted.

"Ah…yeah, I know that. But forget your dad for a minute."

My words and my tone seemed to sober her instantly.

"Would you…is it something that you want?"

"To get married?" Her eyes were huge, her face full of shock.

"Well…um, yeah…If you wanted to."

"Oh."

"Is that an 'oh-yes' or an 'oh-no'?"

"Just…oh. Edward, I love you so much, you know that, right?"

She was pressing in tightly to my side with her palm against my cheek, trying to hold my eyes with hers.

"Of course, Bella. And I love you."

"It's not…ugh, I don't know how to explain this. Leaving home, meeting you, moving here, it's changed me in all of these unbelievable ways. I'm just starting to figure out that my life has so many more opportunities than I ever imagined, and I guess I'm just…"

"You're not ready yet," I interrupted her.

She just looked at me intently for a moment. "No, I don't think I am."

I took a deep breath, the first one I felt like I'd been able to take in hours. "Okay."

"You don't seem upset," she said cautiously.

"I'm not, really. I guessed that's what you'd say."

She planted a hand on her hip. "Then why did you ask me?"

"I don't know. I wanted to do the right thing. And if there was a chance I was wrong and maybe you did want to... well, then, that's what we'd do. You're changing your whole life to be with me, Bella. I just wanted you to know that I was willing to do the same for you, if that's what you wanted."

She smiled at me fondly and shook her head. "You're always so good to me," she murmured.

It was odd, but considering she'd just turned down my almost-proposal, I was feeling pretty great. I knew what her answer would be. I doubted myself, I wondered if maybe I was wrong, but in the end, I knew Bella. I knew she wouldn't want to get married yet. And honestly, I wasn't exactly ready myself. _Yet._ That part was the only thing that was still eating at me, the only reassurance I really wanted from her.

"But, getting married aside...Bella, I love you. And I don't know what you're thinking about us and the future, but I'm kind of thinking about…well, forever."

I held my breath in preparation for her answer, but I shouldn't have worried. Her whole face lit up and her eyes grew soft. She leaned in closer and tilted her face up to mine.

"I'm thinking about forever, too," she whispered.

My face practically split in two with my ridiculous grin. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her body up close to mine. "So marriage…."

"Someday," she supplied with a little nod. "But for now, isn't it enough to just live a happy life with me?"

"For now," I smiled.

"Forever."

I leaned in and kissed her, pushing her back into the fence. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and stood on tiptoe to angle her body closer to mine. The kissing grew heated and intense, my hands gripped her hips and dug in. I moved to her neck, kissing my way down to the curve of her shoulder where the strap of her dress had shifted slightly.

"Bella?"

"Hmmm?" she murmured, her head thrown back and one of her hands tangled tightly in my hair.

"There was something else you said to your parents that I wanted to talk about."

"What was that?"

I laid a row of open-mouthed kisses back up her neck, headed for her earlobe. She sighed heavily and arched into me.

"The bit about living in sin?"

I felt her stiffen slightly in my arms, but before she could pull away from me I fastened my teeth on her earlobe and nipped gently. She gasped.

"Yeah?"

"I think we should go home and explore the sin part a little further."

* * *

**A/N: As I've mentioned before, we're almost to the end of this crazy journey. One more chapter and an epilogue to go. Thanks for reading :)  
**

**On an unrelated note, spanglemaker9 has started posting her brand-new solo fic. It's incredible. You should check it out. The Wedding Party: **http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5861484/1/The_Wedding_Party


	29. I'm Just a Lucky SoandSo

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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I hadn't been to the train station since I arrived months ago, and the hustle around me made me almost nostalgic.

"I can't believe you're leaving already," I said softly. "It seems like you just got here."

Edward gave me a curious sideways glance as he gave his father an awkward hug. He didn't quite understand how it was that I had become so close so quickly with Ed, but he also didn't seem to mind. Under the circumstances, I think he was almost relieved. After they had finally talked last week, things got better. That constant cloud of uneasiness that we had been living under since Ed arrived dissipated, and I started spending more time with the two of them. I was constantly amused by how similar their mannerisms and inflections were, despite having lived apart for five years. They had stopped being _so_ careful with each other, and although they still had a long way to go, they weren't strangers anymore.

"Well, I expect we'll see you in London soon," Ed said warmly. He hugged me and tugged on the end of my hair, giving me a fond smile. "And you two don't need me hanging around, always in the way. I'm sure you have better things to do than keep me company. Besides," he added, glancing up at Edward, "your mother will have my head if I don't get home soon."

"Tell mum I love her," Edward said immediately. He had been feeling increasingly guilty about ignoring his mother's letters. It was one of the biggest reasons we were planning to visit London in only two weeks.

"Tell her yourself, son. Call her." The two men exchanged a significant look. Edward sighed, then nodded reluctantly.

"Have a safe journey."

Ed grabbed his case and jumped onto the train, which was billowing smoke now.

"And Dad?"

Ed glanced back, a half-smile on his lips that made him look exactly like his son.

"I... um... Take care of yourself."

Ed blinked rapidly, and for a moment it almost looked as if he was about to cry. Then, with a brusque nod, he entered the car. Edward shoved his hands into his pockets and watched quietly as the wheels began to chug down the track. We stayed on the platform until we couldn't see the train anymore, then wordlessly turned to walk for home.

"Are you going to miss him?" I asked quietly.

He shrugged slightly and reached out for my hand. We walked a few more blocks in silence, our hands swinging between us. Every few seconds he would squeeze tightly, the pressure making my fingertips tingle a little.

"You're a lot alike you know," I said, trying to distract him from whatever it was he was brooding about. Sometimes Edward spent too much time in his own head, and I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind.

He cracked a smile and shook his head slightly.

"It's true!" I protested. "You're both stubborn, and both of you would do anything to protect the people you love. The look on his face when he talks about your mother..." I smiled softly, tangling our fingers together even tighter, "it reminds me of how you look at me."

"My parents have always been in love," he said. He brought our hands up to his mouth and planted a kiss on the inside of my wrist. "I could probably count on two hands the number of times I've seen them argue. I think most of those times were directly related to me."

"Yes, it must have been difficult to have such a willful, handsome son," I teased, giggling a little when he reached his long arm around and poked my side.

He scoffed. "Well I can't imagine it was easy raising such a stubborn, gorgeous girl. Poor Chief Swan." When I grinned and looked away from him, he grabbed my chin and kissed me softly. "Our children don't stand a chance, do they?"

I was struck by the blindingly clear image of Edward and me, cradling a tiny baby with messy brown hair and brilliant green eyes. It made my heart swell. Hadn't I just got done telling Edward I wasn't ready for marriage? I knew that it was the right choice for me, but I also knew that the image of Edward's baby in my arms made my insides swirl pleasantly. My reaction made me pause, and I stopped walking unconsciously.

Before Paris, one of the things I had started to dread about graduating college and moving home was the idea that I'd be expected to bring baby Blacks into the world as soon as possible. It was something my mother talked about often, and my father would drop occasional hints about. Jacob wanted a boy first, preferably two. Meanwhile, I watched as the girls in my high school class started families, hauling around babies on their hips, wiping runny noses, and looking generally haggard and worn down. While I wasn't opposed to children, I didn't feel at all prepared to have my own, and the pressure I got from all sides made me queasy.

Edward's baby though—a little part of the two of us, one tiny, perfect child—I wanted that. I certainly didn't want it tomorrow, or next year, but just like marriage, I knew I wanted it eventually. It didn't feel like an obligation. It was a hopeful little dream.

Mistaking the reason for my silence, Edward started stuttering out some sort of awkward apology. "I mean, if we have children, you know, we don't have—"

"Shhhhh," I said softly. I pulled him to a stop and kissed him slowly, feeling his body relax as I pulled him deeper into our kiss. "Someday," I whispered against his lips.

He smiled and nodded, resting his forehead against mine. I let myself enjoy the feel of his skin, allowing the chatter of the street to fade into the background. Then he exhaled and pulled back, and the moment passed. Without a word, we kept walking.

Esme and Rose were talking in the kitchen when we got in. Papers were strewn everywhere and a map of the city dominated the kitchen table.

"Of course, I'd prefer you stay in the fourth arrondissement," Esme was saying, "but the fifth and sixth are lovely too. Alice can tell you more about what's available in the sixth, though I have a number of acquaintances in that area."

"Where's Emmett?" Edward asked. He ducked his head out into the hallway, checking the main living area before glancing up the stairs.

"He has a job, Edward," Rose sighed, still poring over the map. She chewed on her lips absently and traced a boulevard with her finger. "I know it seems like he's my full-time babysitter, but occasionally he does do actual work."

Her casual, dismissive tone made me snort, and Edward looked down at me in surprise. I walked over to the table and sat down, ignoring the slightly pouting, confused face he was pointing my way. "What are you two up to?"

"Carlisle said I'll be able to get off my crutches in a few more weeks," Rose said, finally looking up. "Esme is helping me look for my own apartment."

"Your own—are you planning on living alone?" My eyebrows pulled together and I frowned. I didn't like the thought of Rose all by herself, especially after everything that had happened.

"Yes, I am," she said firmly. The steely glint was back in her eyes. "I know you're probably worried, but I think I need to do this, Bella. I need to take care of myself for awhile, and I have the money. Esme is going to help me find someplace safe, and you and Alice won't be far away."

"Alice is doing some apartment hunting of her own." I turned in my seat and looked up as Alice walked into the kitchen, a bright smile on her face. "So this works out nicely. If we play our cards right, we can be neighbors!"

"You're moving?" I asked, struggling to follow the conversation. "What about our—your apartment on Rue Jacob? What about Jasper?"

"I've been thinking about moving out of that apartment for awhile," she shrugged. "And Jasper's place isn't exactly the Ritz. It's fine short-term, but we need more space. I want a place with more space for a studio, and with my new position at Vogue, paying for it won't be a problem."

It was impossible to miss the glint her eyes as she uttered her last sentence. She was practically beaming.

"New position? What do you mean?"

"You're talking to Vogue Paris's newest junior fashion editor!" she squealed, apparently unable to contain her excitement any longer. "It means I'll be more hands-on in selecting what goes into the magazine, which means more control and more direct interaction with the designers!"

I jumped up and hugged her, laughing and she picked me up and spun me around. "Junior editors also get more access to the closet," she whispered. "You, me, and Rose are going to go shopping. We'll send you off to London in style."

She followed through with her threat, of course, although it was much less terrifying than my first trip to the Vogue closet. Paul rushed at us, sweeping me into his arms as if we were best friends.

"Ma belle!" he cried, pulling away and looking at me closely. "You look magnificent. And so chic. Alice, where did your quaint little friend go?"

"She fell in love with an artist and went native, Paul," Alice laughed. He honed in on the "fell in love" bit, and for the next several hours we caught up while Paul gave Rose a make-over. Alice darted in and out of the salon with new finds: dresses, shoes, and hats. It was exhausting; it was wonderful.

The next morning, Alice and Rose dragged Jasper, Edward, and I through apartment after apartment. Alice was insistent that she wanted to live on the Left Bank—something about the "atmosphere." Rose wasn't as specific about what she was looking for, but she dismissed quite a few apartments after only a glance around.

"I'll know it when I see it," she said, ignoring Jasper's increasingly loud grumbles. Alice and Jasper had narrowed their list down to three different apartments and had already set up appointments to speak with the property managers. Rose hadn't found a single place she wanted.

"What about you two?" Alice asked suddenly, almost dropping the sheaf of application papers she held as she looked up at Edward and me.

"What about us?" Edward said with a shrug.

"You can't just stay in the garret with that mangy cat for forever," she said.

"Of course not," he said simply. "But we also don't have to move out immediately just because everyone else is. Besides, Debussy abandoned us long ago. He much prefers sleeping with Esme." He grinned at me and winked.

I could see she was about to argue, so I piped up. "We've talked about it, Alice, and it doesn't make sense for us to move right now. Esme has plenty of space to go around, and she and Carlisle are more than willing to let us stay in the garret for now. We don't have the resources for a place of our own yet. Someday we will. For now, we're staying put."

"Are you sure? Because there's a unit in that building we just came from that would be just perfect—"

"Alice, we're very sure," I laughed. "But you are welcome to come with us when we're ready to look. Okay?"

"Now you've done it," Edward sighed quietly. Alice grinned and turned back to Jasper, apparently appeased. "We would have been able to find a place without the Alice-runaround, you know."

"Of course we would have," I laughed. "But she was going to insist on helping us anyway, and this way I've gotten her to stop pestering us about it for a little while longer."

"Brilliant woman," he chuckled, brushing his lips against my forehead.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Cullen," I murmured, leaning in to kiss him.

"Stop."

I looked up at the sound of Rose's terse command, startled. She was staring up at a window with bright red sashes where a pretty, young woman was just hanging a vacancy sign. The building was older, but still distinguished. Brightly colored flowers peeked over window boxes.

"Excusez-moi, mademoiselle," Rose called up. She waved her arms to get the woman's attention.

Half an hour later, Rose was the proud renter of a one-bedroom apartment. The young woman was the daughter of the landlord, and after talking with the group of us, she agreed to let the vacancy to Rose on the spot. The place suited Rose perfectly, and it was just one floor up, so she wouldn't have to hobble up too many stairs while she was still on the mend. She agreed to be ready to move on the first of the month, paid half her first month's rent in cash, and then we were on our way back to Esme's for the evening.

The next two weeks passed in a flurry of packing, accompanied by occasional pangs of nostalgia. I was strongly reminded of the first year Rose and I went off for college, bags packed and loaded into the back of my father's police car. It was a grand adventure; we were headed off in the great unknown.

The unknown was back again, and we were all of us meeting it head-on. Rose exchanged her crutches for a sturdy, yet dainty looking cane. Alice tortured Jasper with endless questions about furniture and paint while Esme, Rose and I helped pack her clothing and sewing materials for the move.

Emmett left Esme's and returned to his old apartment, but he always found time to stop in and chat, particularly when he knew Rose would be around. I frequently walked in to Rose's bedroom or one of the parlors to find the two of them sitting close together, speaking in low murmurs. They were almost always smiling—small, secret smiles that seemed to be full of untold meaning. It gave me hope.

And Edward and I were getting ready to take a trip across the Channel, toward his past and our future. By the time our departure date arrived, I was exhausted from packing and preparing, and most of all from reassuring Edward that I wanted to go to London and that everything would be alright. He was more anxious about the trip than I was.

The morning we left, our entire odd little family accompanied us to Gare du Nord. Esme and Carlisle stood near the back of the group, and Jasper lingered near them. Despite everything, at times Jasper still seemed like an outsider. Then Alice was grasping his hand firmly and tugging him toward where Emmett and Rose stood. He followed, smiling gently and shaking his head as she chattered away. Their conversation was lost in the dull roar of the train's engine.

Edward whispered something in Emmett's ear, and the two of them exchanged a brief, masculine embrace. When they parted, Emmett's face was lit with a wide grin. He winked at me and ducked down to hug me.

"Take care of him, Bella," he said in my ear. "And if those Brits give you any trouble, you give 'em Hell for me."

I laughed and promised I would before turning to say goodbye to Rose. Up and down the train, conductors were shouting out instructions. Passengers were jumping on board, and the rumble of the engine got louder. Edward squeezed my hand. There wasn't much time.

I looked up at my friend, and my words got caught in my throat. She wasn't the same woman who had left Seattle for a Parisian adventure, but neither was she the frail and broken creature we rescued from Royce. She seemed to glow; her hair and skin were healthy, and her eyes were bright. She smiled more now than she had in the last several years, and I didn't know whether to credit her new-found independence or Emmett. Whatever the reason, I was truly proud of the woman who stood before me.

I reached out and pulled her into my arms, crushing her crisply pressed blouse and probably smudging the make-up Alice had insisted I wear this morning.

"Don't cry," she whispered. "I'll see you soon."

"I know," I sighed, pulling back and smiling. "We'll only be gone for a few weeks."

"And when you come back, you'll come visit my new apartment," she said firmly, beaming. "Emmett and Jasper have both promised to help me with the heavy lifting. Well," she laughed, "Emmett promised and Jasper was strong-armed into it by Alice. Either way, I expect to be throwing my very first dinner party in honor of your homecoming."

She said the words with teasing formality, and I couldn't help but hug her again. Edward pulled on my arm.

"Darling, I'm sorry but we really have to board now or we'll miss the train and we'll have to do this all over again tomorrow."

I sighed and let go of Rose, turning to Alice for one last hug. She'd been helping me prepare for this trip all along, reassuring me every time I felt overwhelmed. I regretted that I couldn't bring her along, and when I looked at her, I think she saw some of that regret in my eyes.

"Knock 'em dead, kid," she said cheerily. She hugged me lightly and then, before she stepped away, she added softly, "She'll love you. It's impossible not to."

I nodded, unable to respond fully so close to Edward. Even he didn't know how much meeting Mrs. Cullen really worried me. Alice was the only person I had confided in in that regard. Edward had put Kate to rest, but had she? Would she dislike me for being too young, or too poor, or too... American? My one comfort was that Ed had liked me very much, and Alice had worked tirelessly over the last two weeks to calm me down and bolster my spirits.

I kissed her cheek and jumped up onto the train, allowing Edward to steady my elbow as I mounted the tiny steps into the car. We found our seats quickly, keeping our crowd of well-wishers in sight through the slightly-grimy windows. As the train started to move, I thought I saw Emmett slip his hand into Rose's. The next moment, they were surrounded by smoke, and we pulled away from the platform.

"Did you—?" I started, staring through the window as if I could clear the smoke with my mind. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Edward said absently. His eyes were closed, and he was leaning comfortably back into his seat, letting his fingers drift over my knee.

"I think," I said slowly, "that Emmett and Rose were holding hands just now."

He opened one eye and gave me a sheepish little half-smile. "I suppose that's more than possible."

"They've been spending a lot of time together lately," I mused. "One evening I came home from the café and I could have sworn that they were about to kiss. I was convinced I was seeing things. Has he said anything to you?"

The sheepish smile grew, and he looked away.

"Edward Cullen, what do you know?"

"He...he may have mentioned it to me, a few times."

I turned in my seat, surprised. "When? What did he say? Why didn't you tell me?"

He sighed a little, then opened both his eyes and seemed to resign himself to the conversation. "The first time was right before my father went home. And I didn't tell you because he asked me not to. This is a delicate situation, and I thought Em had a right to handle it in his own way."

I frowned. "What did he say exactly? Why wouldn't he want me to know?"

Edward smiled again. "Probably because he knew your immediate reaction would be to interrogate him. You're very protective of her, love." He reached for my cheek and I sighed a little. "He didn't say much at first. He wanted to know if I thought it was... appropriate for him to express his interest, given what she's been through."

"What exactly _is_ his interest?"

"I think..." He paused, as if he was deciding whether or not to tell me something. Then he shrugged. "I think he loves her."

My jaw dropped. "Did he tell you that?"

"Not in so many words. But the way he talks about her, looks at her... it's pretty obvious. I'm surprised you haven't been more suspicious."

I stared out the window quietly, absorbing this information. Edward's warm hand suddenly engulfed my cold one. "Would it be so bad?" he said softly. "He's a good man, Bella, one of the best. He'd be good for her."

I smiled a little, and my eyes tingled uncomfortably as a tear trickled down my cheek. "They'll be good for each other," I agreed.

We passed the rest of the long journey in quiet conversation, discussing our friends and what we would do when we arrived in London. I wanted to see the places Edward had spent his time as a child, and he smiled and rolled his eyes every time I brought up some kind of predictable tourist-like activity; although I did get him to promise to take me to see Big Ben and Westminster Abbey. He talked about his parents, more specifically his mother. The little knot of anxiety in my stomach tightened and then relaxed as he let himself remember her. His happy memories painted a different picture than his tortured adolescence. He loved his mother very much, and I felt my dread start to slip away.

When we stepped off our boat onto the crowded pier, it only took a moment to spot the Cullens. Ed was easy to find—he was taller than most of the people around him, impeccably dressed, and glancing anxiously toward the gangplank. I could tell the second he recognized us. He bent down to the petite woman at his side, extending one long arm in our direction.

I caught a flash of familiar bronze hair as she pushed through the crowd, shoving passers-by out of her way as she went. Then she was in front of us, her eyes locked hungrily on Edward's face. He smiled cautiously.

"Edward Anthony Cullen," she said loudly, more accusation than statement. She looked formidable; her hair was pulled back in a severe knot and her green eyes—her son's eyes—were narrowed slightly.

"Hello, Mum."

At his words, all her ferocity dissolved. "Edward," she said again, and this time her voice wavered. She hugged him, pulling him down so he was half-bent over and hanging onto his neck for dear life. I stood behind Edward quietly, not wanting to interrupt, and not feeling quite comfortable inserting myself into their reunion.

It didn't take her long to notice me, though. She let go of Edward and wiped her eyes, smiling shakily. Then she turned expectantly to me, and her smile grew. With a short bound that almost reminded me of Alice, she was in front of me.

"And you must be Bella Swan," she said warmly. "Ed told me so much about you, dear."

"All good things I hope," I laughed, feeling my nerves surge at the knowing way she was looking at me. The next second I let out a surprised little squeak as she pounced on me, hugging me as tightly as if she were my own mother.

"Of course," she said with a squeeze. Then, in an almost-whisper, she added, "Thank you for bringing my son home." When she let me go, her eyes were glistening again. "I'm just so happy to meet you, Bella. To have both of you here to visit."

"Come, Elizabeth, there'll be plenty of time to talk once they've washed the trip off," Ed said. He hoisted my suitcase up, and Edward picked up the other case. Elizabeth hooked her arm around his free arm and started pulling him through the crowd, and Ed escorted me back to where their car was waiting. As he loaded our luggage into the back of the car, Edward looked down at me with a wary sort of smile.

"Are you ready?" he asked, holding open the door to the back seat with a smile.

"As I'll ever be."

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**A/N: This is the last "real" chapter, but it's NOT THE END. If it were the end, spanglemaker and I would be far drunker, and tweeting about Paris. Stay tuned for the epilogue, which will be posted on Friday evening (well, evening for those of you in the US). We're going to hold in all our end of the fic tears and thanks until the epi, so I apologize in advance for the surely long A/N you'll get on Friday. Thanks for reading!**


	30. At Last

Paris, 1950

The war is over and Paris is alive again with artists, writers and musicians. Rosalie Hale has come abroad to study in this exciting and romantic city, but instead she vanishes without a trace. Now her best friend Bella has come on her own to find her. She teams up with Rose's spunky roommate, and they are joined in the search by an American businessman, a battle-scarred reporter, and a handsome painter with his own mysterious past. Following a trail of clues left behind by Rose's letters, they plunge into the dark side of the City of Lights. Who is Royce? What secrets is he hiding? Why did Rose really leave? The search for Rose and life in Paris might just change Bella in ways she never imagined.

**Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this**** story. The remainder is our original work. Copyright 2009 by spanglemaker9 and justaskalice. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without**** our express written authorization.**

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_June 3, 1955  
Bowling Green, Ohio_

_Dear Bella, _

_I hope this reaches you before Edward's birthday. Emmett wanted to be at Edward's opening so badly, but with the children so young it's really impossible. Once Helen is older, we'll bring her and Imogene to visit their Aunt Bella. Genie loves the picture books you sent for her last birthday, by the way. Her newest plan is to live at the top of the Eiffel Tower and eat nothing but chocolate and crêpes every day. Originally, she wanted pancakes, but I told her crêpes would be more French. We even made them for breakfast the other day. She was particularly happy about the whipped cream Emmett put on top of the crêpes. He spoils her so much. _

_Emmett's mother says she's exactly like he was as a child, all unruly brown curls and crazy smiles. And such an imagination, Bella! Her stories could give you a run for your money, although you'd probably have to work to understand her. Between her little lisp and the words that she invents from thin air, sometimes it's a challenge._

_Speaking of stories, I can't tell you how much I enjoyed your book. Thank you for sending the signed copy, it's sitting in a place of honor on our coffee table. I had to read it slowly— I'll confess that between my students, my husband, and my children I rarely get a moment to myself. In the end, I was glad I did it that way... both because of the memories it made me relive and the way it made me feel closer to you and wonderful Paris. Now whenever I miss you I open your book and flip through the pages. I haven't seen you in too long. Any chance we can convince you to visit Ohio? _

_I've enclosed a photo of the whole family (little Helen's first family portrait!) and our present to Edward. _

_All my love,_

_Rose_

_p.s.: Emmett says to tell Edward to drink the scotch slowly—now that he's such an old man, his hangovers will be much worse. I told him he should be careful who he's calling old, as he's two years older than Edward. _

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**BPOV**

I stared at the little family portrait, taking in the subtle changes that time had wrought on Emmett and Rose. Rose's long hair had been cut off at her chin in a charming little bob after their first child, Genie, was born. She said she couldn't be bothered trying to keep it up anymore, and short hair was becoming fashionable anyway. They both looked a little more careworn, and there were lines around Emmett's eyes and mouth that hadn't been there when they left Paris four years ago.

Edward and I had returned from our visit to London to find Emmett and Rose very obviously in love. Their interactions were full of teasing little comments and soft touches. She still gave him hell for trying to carry her everywhere, and he still insisted she was too stubborn for her own good. But even though the words hadn't changed, the attitude behind them had.

Rose went back to school, just like she had planned, finishing her degree with flying colors. Emmett proposed right before her graduation, and Esme outdid herself with the biggest party she'd thrown since before the war. Edward, Emmett, Jasper and Carlisle were walking around with icepacks on their foreheads for a full day afterwards, and Edward couldn't even look at a bottle of champagne for months.

It was shortly after that night that we got news from Edward's father that Royce King, who had been put in prison for various charges of blackmail, war profiteering, and a couple particularly ugly charges involving conspiracy to commit murder, had been killed by a fellow inmate in Pentonville prison. Apparently he had been up to his old tricks, supplying contraband to the prisoners for a price, when he cheated the wrong guy. When we told Rose, she made an odd little whimper –part anger, part relief, and part sadness—before straightening up and nodded.

"Well," she said slowly, smiling up at Emmett. "That's one less thing on my to-do list, isn't it?"

Emmett just laughed and pulled her into a tight hug, kissing her hair. "That's my girl," he said fondly, shaking his head a little and looking at her in slight disbelief.

I didn't get to see Rose marry Emmett. His company called him home to Ohio, and they left in June to start their lives together. They had a little civil ceremony in Bowling Green with his mother and my parents, who made the trip to see their surrogate daughter get married. My mother made it a point to tell me how happy she was that _Rose_ was happily married. I didn't miss the wistfulness in her voice when she told me what a beautiful bride Rose made.

When the topic came up now, I sidestepped it with practiced ease. It was a bit of a sore subject for several people in my life... including my boyfriend.

Edward walked out into our tiny living room, his suspenders hanging loosing around his waist. I looked up from Rose's letter and felt my heart flutter a little at the sight of him. There was something about Edward in formalwear that made me feel like I was seeing him for the first time. Tonight he was wearing crisply pressed black slacks, shiny black shoes, and a fresh white dress shirt. A tie hung loosely from his neck, and he frowned as he tugged on the ends.

"Do you need help?" I laughed. He looked up and sighed heavily.

"Please? I don't see why I have to wear a tie. I'm not going to be fooling anyone."

I stood up and started looping his tie into a simple knot. "Because you're the artist of honor, that's why. It won't kill your reputation if you wear a tie for one night. It's your first gallery opening."

He sighed again, so I tugged on his tie and pushed my mouth up by his ear. "Plus, the tie is kind of sexy."

I was rewarded with a light chuckle. Edward grabbed my left hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing my palm lightly before flipping it over and letting his lips linger on my third finger. Then it was my turn to sigh.

"You look very handsome," I said quietly, straightening the knot and letting his tie drop. "I need to get changed and then we'll head over to the gallery. Esme said she was planning on getting there early with the champagne."

Slipping around him, I headed into the bedroom and closed the door softly behind me. We'd moved into this flat about three years ago, when Edward had started making a small but steady income from his paintings. I was able to sell a few short stories to supplement our income, and back then I was still working at the café almost every day. We made enough to get by, and our tiny apartment was cozy and just right for two, although at the beginning I missed the constant company of Esme's place.

I made my way over to the wardrobe, where a picture of Edward and me sat smiling into the room. It was taken that first August on a sunny, perfect summer day. Jasper had unearthed a 35mm camera and we had taken turns playing around with it. Alice snapped that picture and declared it "perfect" before ever getting the film developed. As usual, she was right.

The very next day, our world got turned upside down. Jacob appeared in the street outside of Esme's house looking ragged and exhausted and slightly terrified. Esme, not knowing who he was or why he was looking for me, made him wait on the front steps until she found me.

Edward was painting on the Seine, so I brought him inside and got him a hot cup of coffee. He watched me as I bustled around the kitchen, eyes getting sadder by the second. He was a little more shaggy than the Jacob I remembered—his hair had grown out of his careful crew cut and his clothes were dirty, probably from his trip.

When I had his coffee, I sat down across from him with a sigh. "Now," I started, then stopped, unsure of what to say. "Jacob...what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to get you back," he said forcefully. He didn't touch his coffee.

"Jacob—"

"No, Bells, I'm serious. What are you doing here? This place... it's not you. There are so many people, the streets are dirty, no one speaks English...and what are you wearing?"

I looked down at myself, surprised by the accusation in his voice. It was a dress that Alice had brought me from work, a simple silk thing with a full skirt that I liked a lot. It was one of Edward's favorites. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"It's not _you_," he said again, waving his hands at me. "You're not some fancy, snooty city girl."

I rolled my eyes. "Did my dad send you here? I told him, and you, for that matter, that I'm staying here. I met someone else, Jake. I'm in love with him. I love Paris. It's not dirty or crowded. And I'm actually getting quite good at speaking French."

"Charlie didn't send me; I just couldn't stand to see you throw your life away like this."

That's when Edward walked in. It only took a moment for them to recognize each other for who they were—I had described Jacob to Edward, and Jake didn't miss the way Edward walked right to me for a kiss hello. Somehow I managed to keep them from killing each other right there in Esme's kitchen, but it was a close call. I was standing in between them with my hands extended by the time Esme arrived to take control of the situation.

In the end, Jake only stayed for two weeks. Esme set him up in Emmett's old room, and I convinced my friends to take turns babysitting him while I was at work. Babysitting was the right word, too. He was never quite comfortable. He didn't like the food, the coffee was too strong, the streets were too wide, the river was too narrow.

Edward tolerated his presence with quickly evaporating patience. They scowled at each other every morning at breakfast, and Edward became more territorial every day. If he wasn't touching me, he was kissing my neck or playing with my hair.

In the end, though, Edward wasn't what convinced Jacob to leave. I was at the café that afternoon, scribbling away in my notebook and waiting on the few regular customers who hadn't abandoned the city for the month of August. It was a beautiful, sunny day, although the breeze coming in from the west felt like rain. I was untying my apron at the end of my shift when I saw Jacob sit down at one of my tables. He had his suitcase with him.

"Jake? What are you doing here?"

He looked up at me with a sad little smile. "Sit down."

I pulled out the chair across from him and sat slowly, still staring at his suitcase.

"I'm going home, Bella. You were right. You belong here, and I don't. You... you belong with _him_ now."

My eyebrows pulled together and I gaped at him for a moment. We had fought the night before, again, because he thought Edward was a bad influence on me. He was lucky that Edward was at the club and Esme and Carlisle were out, or things could have gotten out of hand very quickly.

"What brought this on? Not that it's not nice to hear."

"I've been sitting across the street all afternoon," he said quietly, "watching you. I haven't been able to really watch you in your life here, you know? I know that's my fault, but... I didn't want to believe it."

"Believe what?"

"That you're happy. That you want this." He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "You must think I'm an idiot."

I covered his hand with mine and sighed. "Oh, Jake. You're not an idiot. This has nothing to do with you. We just weren't right for each other. You'll find someone who'll make you so much happier. Just wait."

I walked him to the train station and kissed him goodbye, one last time. Edward was overjoyed to come home to a Jacob-free house, and even happier when I told him what he had said before leaving.

Jake was married a year later to a pretty red-headed girl he called Nessie. They sent me a wedding announcement, complete with a picture of the happy couple. Jake had signed it with a little note.

–_You were right. Thank you._

It seemed like everyone we knew was getting married and having children. Everyone but Edward and me, that is.

I pinned my hair up and examined my face in the mirror. I was twenty-seven, and there was no denying that I looked different than the fresh-faced and terrified girl who stepped off the Paris metro in 1950. Edward was about to turn twenty-nine, and for some reason he had been increasingly fixated on his age. It was almost like he felt a timer had started running somewhere, like he had things he had to accomplish before he turned thirty and he only just realized what a short amount of time he really had.

I slid my rings on, laughing a little as I realized how much more like Esme I became every day. My third finger on my left hand I left empty, sighing a little as I stared at my hands.

Edward had asked me to marry him exactly twenty times since that first almost-proposal on the Île de la Cité. He asked me over dinner, at the market, and one memorable Bastille Day under the fireworks near the Eiffel Tower. Some of his proposals seemed carefully planned, while other times were more spur of the moment. He dropped to his knees on the metro once and asked me cheerfully.

I told him no every time.

It wasn't that I didn't want to marry him. I did...eventually. We had been living together for almost five years. We had a life together. Everything we owned, we owned together.

At first, I decided I wanted to make a name for myself. Publish my first book. Then I could be a wife. I told him as much, and for a while after that his proposals took on a teasing, laughing edge. Like he knew I would say no, but just wanted me to know that he would marry me whenever I wanted.

My book was published last year, and since then I had sensed an increasing frustration behind some of our interactions. Meanwhile, I clung to my unconventionality. Marriage still seemed like a cage, and I wanted to remain free and independent for as long as I could. I didn't need a wedding license to tell me I belonged to Edward. I didn't need a chapel or a white dress. But it was slowly beginning to dawn on me that maybe Edward _did_ need those things.

I opened our bedroom door and poked my head out into the apartment. "Edward, do you know where my stockings went? They were right next to the bed, and I can't find them."

"I was doing some washing earlier and grabbed them. They're drying on the bathtub."

In the bathroom, I found my stockings exactly where he said they'd be. I was about to put them on when the complete banality of the moment struck me, and I started to laugh.

Edward had washed my delicates, without being asked or pestering me about how to do it. I cooked him dinner every night. We had silly arguments over curtains and bedclothes and how he never picked his clothes up at night. We spent every evening together, and most days we worked side-by-side, him painting while I wrote.

The independence that I clung to was a myth. I was no more a single woman than Rose was, except Rose had a wedding band and two children. And just like that, standing in the middle of my tiny bathroom staring at my equally-tiny bathtub, I knew that I was ready. It wasn't a blinding revelation; it was more like wrapping myself in a warm blanket. The next time he asked, I would say yes.

He walked into the bathroom then, staring at me like he was wondering if I had finally lost it. I couldn't blame him—I was laughing hysterically in the bathroom, hugging my stockings to my chest, tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes.

"Everything alright, love? I didn't put a run in your hose, did I?"

The question made me laugh even harder, and I started to hiccup. He thumped me on the back helpfully, and after I caught my breath, I smiled up at him.

"No runs. I'm wonderful. Would you get my wrap from the closet? I'm almost ready."

He gave me one more slightly wary glance, then nodded and walked back toward our bedroom. I pulled on my stockings and checked my makeup in the mirror. My eyes were bright and my mouth was stretched into a happy grin.

"Mrs. Bella Cullen," I whispered, trying the name out on my tongue. The girl in the mirror seemed to approve; her smile grew and I swear she winked at me.

"Okay, Edward," I called out, making my way toward the front door. "I'm ready."

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**EPOV**

I scowled at my reflection in the spotted little mirror over the dresser and yanked my tie loose again. Stupid, bloody thing. The whole point of being a vagabond painter for a living was to avoid spending your life strangled by a necktie. I wasn't sure why I needed to celebrate finally achieving some small modicum of success as a painter by strangling myself with one of those very same neckties. But Bella had been very clear about what was expected of me tonight, and Alice would brook no arguments about my outfit, so I was trying to suppress the grumbling and get myself dressed. The bloody necktie was defeating me, though.

As I took a deep breath and centered it around my collar again, my eyes fell to the side-by-side framed snapshots on our dresser; Bella's parents in one, my parents in the other. My relationship with my parents had steadily improved ever since my dad came to help with Rose all those years ago. Bella never gave it a moment to backslide, working right from the start at building a relationship with my mother. It wasn't hard; my mother adored Bella. She would have adored her no matter what, since it was Bella who finally managed to get me back home to England and speaking to my parents again. But ever since that first visit, Bella and my mother had established a steady correspondence, exchanging letters every few weeks. About twice a year my parents came to Paris to visit and Bella and I usually managed to make it back to London at least once a year.

It was great having them back in my life, and even better that they were so accepting now of my choice to live in Paris. I think they actually really enjoyed their visits. Esme always insisted that they stay with her and Carlisle, even after Bella and I had moved out. Every morning I'd find my parents bleary-eyed and exhausted, but happy, so I suspected Esme and Carlisle kept them up half the night drinking and reminiscing. I didn't mind. I loved seeing them grow close, the years of silence nearly forgotten.

The closeness we'd established with my parents made me feel even guiltier about Bella's parents. We'd been together for five years and still hadn't made it to America to meet them. Renee insisted that they understood how very expensive the trip was and how long it took to get there. Even Charlie managed to keep his grousing about Bella's prolonged absence in control, only occasionally accusing me of kidnapping his daughter. I ignored his ribbing but I still felt terrible about Bella's long absence. Now Bella was the one who hadn't seen her parents in five years. We were saving for the trip, and if all went well with her next book, we were hoping to make it for Christmas this year.

Which brought me back to the other thing making me feel guilty. Bella might be having fun thumbing her nose at convention by staying single for so long, but I couldn't shake feeling that it would be wrong somehow to go home to meet her family while we were still "living in sin," as she had put it so succinctly so long ago.

I didn't begrudge her choice for one second. I never had. I really hadn't minded when she refused my first proposal. I fully understood why she didn't want to get married, and I hadn't been quite ready myself. And I never harbored any ill will for any of her subsequent refusals. In fact, her turning me down had become kind of "our thing." I liked to think up the strangest, most unexpected places to propose, choose the moment when she'd be least expecting it. Then I'd drop to one knee in front of a stunned, breathless crowd and ask her to marry me, smirking, because I knew full well what her answer would be. She'd roll her eyes and say no, the crowd around us would audibly deflate in disappointment, and the two of us would laugh about it for the rest of the night. It was all good fun. Except I wasn't quite feeling the humor anymore.

_Everybody_ _else_ was married already! First Rose and Emmett, which was hardly surprising. Then Alice and Jasper tied the knot a couple of years ago, which raised a few eyebrows at first, but in the end seemed exactly right. And then six months ago even Esme and Carlisle had done it. When Carlisle turned fifty, he suddenly got it in his head that he wanted to marry Esme. She'd laughed and rolled her eyes at him, but when she realized he was serious, and that it meant a lot to him, she'd made the initial inquiries to obtain an annulment of her first marriage. They'd quickly discovered that her husband had died two years earlier and she was free. They were quietly married in a small side chapel of Saint Germain l'Auxerrois in January.

Now, with my twenty-ninth birthday bearing down on me, I was starting to feel some of Carlisle's anxiety. Being free-living bohemians, happily shucking off society's rules, had been good fun in my twenties. But now, what, exactly, were we waiting for? We lived together, every bit as domestic as Rose and Emmett…and now they had two kids to boot! I really didn't want to show up in Forks still being introduced as just her boyfriend, especially when that prat, Jacob was also now happily married with children. Maybe it was juvenile of me and I'm sure Marguerite would tell me it was my latent, repressed masculine uber-ego fighting to surface or whatever, but I didn't care. I wanted my ring on her finger, my name attached to hers, her beloved unconventionality be damned. But she still brushed off every suggestion of it. I couldn't quite put my finger on why, but making her my wife had somehow become important to me. I just wasn't sure how to convince her to do it, to follow me into traditional domesticity.

I growled in frustration, both at my tie and at my stupid, wayward thoughts. If we didn't get a move-on, I'd be late to my own opening. I wandered out into the living room and only had to cast one helpless, lost look at her and she was on her feet, fixing my tie for me. She always seemed to know exactly what I needed…well, in most things.

Twenty minutes later, we were finally on our way. I'd had to break Bella out of whatever odd trance she'd lapsed into in the bathroom, but after that she got dressed fairly quickly and we got out the door.

It was still early when we got to the tiny Galerie des Près, but we needed to help set up. Carlisle and Esme were already there, arranging bottles of champagne and crystal flutes on a table. I took a quick, nervous glance around. The two small rooms were lined with my paintings. It was a very modest little show, but it was the first time I was showing completely solo. Every painting in the place was mine. It was exhilarating and intimidating at the same time. I wanted to go take a closer look at everything, to make sure it was all properly labeled and hanging where we'd decided, but Bella was pulling me over to the table to greet Carlisle and Esme.

Carlisle clapped a friendly hand on my shoulder in greeting.

"How are you holding up, Edward?"

"Good. Alright. A little anxious," I smiled nervously and rubbed my hands together.

"Well, here. This should relax you a bit. Just have a breather."

"I should help you finish setting up," I protested.

Carlisle waved me off. "We're nearly done. Esme's a tyrant about party-planning."

Esme's delighted coo made us both look at her. Bella had produced the new snapshot of Rose and Emmett and the kids. Esme had her hand clamped to her chest and if I wasn't mistaken, her eyes were a little teary.

"Ah, mes chères!" she sighed. Carlisle stepped up behind her, settling his arm around her shoulders. "Carlisle, as soon as the little one is old enough, they must come to visit. We'll take the babies and chase Rose and Emmett off on their own for a bit, yes?"

Carlisle chuckled and kissed her temple gently. "Of course, darling. Whenever you'd like. It would be wonderful to have the house filled with children."

"Mais oui," she murmured, staring lovingly at the photograph as Bella looked on, her face glowing. She looked for all the world like she couldn't wait for Esme to coo over _her_ children, although she never seemed in any hurry to get started on that project.

We heard Jasper's boisterous laughter through the door before he and Alice ever entered. It still struck me as odd sometimes to see him so happy, even though the dark, taciturn man I'd first met five years ago was mostly a thing of the past. Alice stumbled through the door, laughing, with Jasper's arms around her waist. I couldn't tell if he was helping to hold her up or causing her to fall over. Neither of them seemed certain either. They were both dressed to the nines, Jasper striking in a sharp black suit and Alice in a shiny red satin dress, glittering with jewelry.

"Did you see his face?" Alice was shrieking with delight, which only caused Jasper to laugh harder. "I thought he was going to deck you!"

"What happened?" I asked with a chuckle. You never knew what kind of trouble the two of them had found. Alice had developed a reputation for setting fire to any party she showed up at, so, consequently, they were invited everywhere and were out nearly every night of the week. Jasper was still writing for the wire service as the new head of the Paris desk. He held court at the center of a large community of ex-pat American journalists in Paris, and Alice was always at his side: his witty, charming American wife. They were the toast of the Parisian nightclub scene.

"Oh, Jasper was …and then this fella…" Alice was waving her hands helplessly in front of her face, laughing and trying to explain at the same time. "And then I said….and then he…" Finally she threw her hands up in defeat. "Oh, never mind. You had to be there."

"Alice," Bella called out to distract her, "come and see!"

Alice crossed to see the new picture of Rose's family and immediately fell into shrieks of delight. Jasper rolled his eyes dramatically, but smiled as he accepted a champagne flute from Carlisle and craned his neck to peer over Alice's shoulder.

We exchanged a few pleasantries and then I excused myself to take a look around the gallery before people started arriving. On the whole, I was pleased with the collection. I'd worked hard, and although there were always things I wished I could change or do better, I felt proud of the show. Five years of good, solid work.

As I walked the perimeter of the room, letting my eyes flicker over the familiar canvases, I felt like I could see little flashes of my life with Bella in every one. That splash of russet in the corner of that canvas; I remembered looking up from the canvas and seeing the light pouring through the window onto her as she bent over her desk, writing. The sunlight set off highlights in her hair that were exactly that color. And in the next canvas, the mysterious, half-formed hands in the foreground; those were Bella's hands. She was there, in some way, in every canvas.

People were beginning to arrive, I heard voices and laughter and shouted hellos. I knew I should head back to the front and mingle, but I hung back for just a few minutes longer. I heard Marguerite arrive before I saw her, her booming, gravelly voice impossible to miss in the tiny gallery. She scooped Bella up, kissing her soundly on both cheeks before releasing her to take the champagne Carlisle was offering. She had stayed a constant friend and advisor to Bella, always happy to read something for her and offer an opinion, or advise her on her writing when she got stuck. Early on she'd introduced Bella to her group of writers and literary critics, and it was through them that Bella had made the first contact that eventually led to her publishing deal. We owed Marguerite a lot. Yet another odd member of our peculiar Parisian family.

Over her shoulder I could see Julian talking with Alice. Of course he would show up if there was free liquor involved. I was delighted to have him here, though, just as long as he abstained from the bird calls tonight. I didn't think I could handle that. I saw several other familiar faces in the crowd, all friends from our many nights at Esme's, all the creative, artistic people that made our life here so worthwhile.

I really needed to get out of my corner and go mingle, but just then I saw Bella disentangling herself from a conversation and start to make her way back to me. I was happy to get another minute alone with her, smiling at her when she reached me.

"Hey, you," she said softly, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss me chastely.

"Hey, you. Come and take a look."

I took her hand and pulled her along behind me to look at the paintings.

"They look amazing, Edward," she said earnestly. "I'm so proud of you."

I smiled down at her. "Thank you, but it wouldn't have happened without you."

She scoffed. "Don't be silly! You're the painter. I can't do any of this." She waved a hand at the canvases as we strolled past.

"But I was thinking earlier, and you're in every one, you know? Everything I look at, I see something of you in it. You're always there, Bella."

She pulled me to a stop, staring at me, her mouth slightly open. "Edward," she breathed, "You always say the most amazing things to me."

I shrugged. "It's just true." Then I pointed to the painting in the center of the back wall, a few feet from where we'd stopped. "Like that. That painting was nothing. And then you stepped into it and gave it a purpose. Just the way you stepped into my life and gave me a purpose."

She turned her head to see which one I was pointing to. It was _Girl with a Red Umbrella_, the painting I'd been working on the first night I saw her. Bella drifted forward until she was right in front of it and I followed. We stood side by side for a few minutes, looking and remembering. The cold, the rain, her pale cheek, her dark coat, the red umbrella…

"You know, you did the same for me, too," she said, softly.

"Did what?"

"Gave me a purpose. I was just as lost, I just didn't know it then. And then I stumbled into that park and saw you and found exactly what I didn't even realize I'd been looking for."

I looked at her sideways and smiled, and she squeezed my hand.

"I love you, Bella."

"I love you, too."

"And someday," I continued, lightening my voice, trying to make a joke to shake us out of our serious moment, "if I badger you enough, I might finally get you to agree to marry me. Eventually you'll give in, you know. It's just a matter of time."

"I know," she murmured. "It's time."

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me."

I grabbed her arms with my hands, turning her to face me. "Be serious, Bella. Did you…did you just say yes?"

She smiled, huge and beaming. "I said yes."

"And you're not teasing? This isn't you getting back at me for proposing to you on the metro that time?"

She laughed and shook her head, moving forward into my arms, bringing her own up around my waist. "It's no joke, Edward. I love you. I'll love you forever. I want to marry you, if you'll still have me."

I was having a hard time controlling my grin. It was threatening to consume my face. The loud, happy chatter of the crowd around me, the importance of tonight, it all faded away in the magnitude of this moment.

"Have you? Just try getting rid of me! Come on!" I started to pull her towards the front of the room. "Let's get some champagne and celebrate!"

"Wait!" She tugged back on my hand. "Not here. Not tonight. This is your night and I want it to be all about you. Tomorrow we'll get everybody over to Esme's and we'll celebrate then, okay?"

"Okay. Whatever you want, just no backing out." I pointed a warning finger at her and she grabbed it with her own hand, laughing.

"I promise. You're stuck with me, Edward Cullen," she said. Then she leaned in to my ear as she hooked one arm around my neck. "And tonight I'll take you home and we'll seal the deal…any way you want to."

I groaned softly. The effect this woman had on my body never lessened and never ceased to amaze me. Suddenly tonight, my big night, seemed absolutely endless.

"We have forever, Edward," she whispered. "Now let's go mingle."

I sighed and let her go, and she pulled me into the crowd. We were quickly swallowed up by the people, all our friends who pressed in to shake my hand and congratulate me on my success. But through it all I never let go of Bella's hand, content now in the knowledge that now I never would. We would walk through the rest of our days, wherever they led us, just like this, side-by-side and hand-in-hand.

**The End**

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**A/N: So that's the end. It's hard to believe, and it's been an incredible experience for us. We've loved time traveling with you, and we hope you've enjoyed the ride. Thank you to all of you who read, to those of you who reviewed every week, to everyone who threw out crazy theories and raged out at Royce and swooned over Edward in the park.**

**Thank you to all the wonderful women who rec'ed this story along the way: ignora on Twilighted and Random Acts of Rob, yeah_yeah143 at Edwardville, feathers_mmmm at Twigasm, WriteOnTime and Kassiah at The Fictionators, and ciao_bella27 at The Little Known Ficster. Thank you to Mr. Spanglemaker for all his expert jazz advice. Thank you as well to anyone who told their friends to read this fic, who tweeted about the updates, and who spread the word without our knowledge. You're all fabulous.**

**And lastly, on a personal note, thank you to my partner in crime, spangley. Our partnership started out as a random fic connection and a couple of black and white photos last September, and the result is something I will forever be proud of. She is responsible for mountains of photographic research, Edward's sheer swooniness, and the essence of what has become my favorite Esme of all time. She's always patient, helpful, and absolutely brilliant. I'm so glad she decided to overlook her normal prejudice against vampires and pick up Twilight. We'll always have Paris, bb.**

**If you haven't checked out our extras, feel free to do it now.**

_**Esme outtake by spanglemaker9: La Resistance http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5723397/1/La_Resistance**_

_**Jasper outtake by justaskalice: Frozen http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5807871/1/Frozen**_

_**Livejournal site with music, historical facts, and more pictures than you can shake a stick at: http://spanglemaker9(dot)livejournal(dot)com/**_


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